EDWARD  CHILDS  CARPENTER 


ia 


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cmE«  EiBHiHy^ros  HTGELES 


"A    Cinderella-man!"  she   murmured.     "But  He   is   Not  He 


THE 
CINDERELLA 

MAN 

A  ROMANCE  OF  YOUTH 


BY 
HELEN  K.  CARPENTER 

AND 

EDWARD  CHILDS  CARPENTER 


New  York 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 

Publishers 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
The  H.  K.  Fly  Company. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED 9 

II  MEMORIES  IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN.  ...  19 

III  A  LODGING  FOR  A  POET 25 

IV  THE  HEROINE  ENTERS 31 

V  SUNLIGHT  AND  THEN  A  SHADOW.  .  44 

VI    Two  POINTS  OF  VIEW 52 

VII    A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG,  STRANGE 

HOUSE  . . . : 62 

VIII    WILL  AGAINST  WILL 73 

IX    SOMEHOW,  THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT 

HER  FINGER 83 

X    THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG 94 

XI    THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  DORMER  WIN- 
DOW      103 

XII    HE  WROTE   THINGS  UNDER  THE 

ROOF   117 

XIII    AN  EMISSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS.  ...    130 
XIV    A  BANK  BALANCE 143 


2128701 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV    A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY 152 

XVI    THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE 164 

XVII    THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA 175 

XVIII    His  NEW  SECRETARY 186 

XIX    A  FEW  CHANGES 195 

XX    ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM 204 

XXI  A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT 212 

XXII  MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL 224 

XXIII  A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED 235 

XXIV  PRIMROSE  AS  CUPID 244 

XXV    "THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 253 

XXVI    A  SHATTERED  PARADISE 261 

XXVII    LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY 267 

XXVIII  MORRIS  CANER  HEARS  A  CONFES- 
SION     278 

XXIX  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  ROMANCE.  ...   285 

XXX    ON  COMMON  GROUND 293 

XXXI    THE  TURNING  POINT 300 

XXXII    THE  PRINCESS , 304 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"A  Cinderella-man  I"  she  murmured  softly.  "But 
he  is  not  here" Frontispiece 

"Well,  in  that  shabby  old  place— where  you  see 
the  light,  lives  Quintard.  He  lives  up  there, 
like  Cinderella,  in  the  attic" Page  109 

"Good-by,  Cinderella-man"    "     194 

"Please,  ask — the  Princess  I" "    310 


The  Cinderella  Man 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED. 

GENTLE  mysteries  dwelt  among  the  old  and 
beautiful  things  which  companioned  Anthony 
Quintard  through  the  long  nights  when  the 
frost's  delicate  embroideries  edged  the  window  panes 
and  the  falling  snow  tapped  wraithily  at  the  casement. 
Many  a  time  he  said,  "Come  in,"  picturing  with 
boyish  fancy  a  friendly  phantom  come  to  visit  the 
others,  who,  when  the  firelight  reached  out  to  em- 
brace them,  retreated  into  the  shy  shadows  of  the 
panelled  wall.  He  always  had  the  feeling  that  they 
were  there — those  ghosts  of  sovereign  thoughts, 
those  shades  of  golden  words,  those  spirits  of  benfi- 
cent  deeds — for,  in  a  hundred  years  and  more,  only 
the  gentlest  of  lovely  women,  the  noblest  of  gentle 
gentlemen,  had  thought  and  spoken  and  done  for 
one  another  and  their  neighbors  there.  So  you  may 

9 


10 

understand  that  Tony,  one  of  the  most  gentle  of  all 
that  house,  left  alone  with  that  beautiful  heritage  of 
old  things  and  older  spirits,  must  have  loved  and 
venerated  them  everyone. 

Outside,  the  city — its  towering  hives  crowding,  al- 
most crushing  the  ancient  dwelling  where  Tony  lived 
with  all  the  yesterdays — called,  like  a  vendor  of  toys, 
offering  the  dazzling  playthings  of  the  night  to  him  ; 
but,  for  one  whose  blood  was  warm  with  youth,  his 
heart  was  cold  to  that  vibrant  lure  without.  It 
always  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  more  for  heart 
and  mind  within  those  venerable  walls.  So  he  did 
not  join  that  motley  pageant  of  humanity  at  play. 
He  found  companions  in  those  peopled  books,  friends 
who  were  forever  amiable  and  young;  there  were 
songs  for  him  in  the  silent  spinet;  there  were  light 
and  shadow  dances  on  the  hearth;  magic  in  the  weave 
of  the  rugs  at  his  feet;  and  drama  in  the  conflict  of 
the  quiet  place  itself  against  the  noisy  bluster  of  en- 
croaching years. 

The  new  and  tawdry  brawled  without,  the  old  and 
beautiful  reposed  within.  There  was  nothing  there 
that  was  not  older  than  Tony, — nothing  there  that 
was  not  as  harmonious  as  the  chords  that  he  some- 
times ventured  to  rouse  from  that  sleeping  instru- 
ment. To  touch  it,  to  pick  up  a  book,  to  sit  at  the 


THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED          n 

great  carved  table,  to  gaze  at  the  mellowed  portraits, 
or  to  sink  back  into  the  embracing  arms  of  his 
grandsire's  chair,  was  to  visualize  companions  who 
charmed  him  with  their  gentle  courtesy,  engaged  him 
with  their  soft  voices,  counselled  him  with  their 
sturdy  advice,  and  entertained  him  with  their  friendly 
wit. 

There,  before  the  fire — in  that  same  grandsire's 
chair — with  the  samovar  simmering  at  his  elbow  and 
the  light  from  a  lamp  falling  upon  the  penciled  verses 
now  taking  form  after  a  long  vigil — his  friend, 
Romney  Evans,  attorney-at-law,  and  over  twice  his 
years,  found  him  on  a  winter's  night. 

Tony  had  no  reason  to  expect  him,  yet  in  some 
clairvoyant  fashion  the  youth  seemed  to  know  that 
it  was  Romney's  hand  that  knocked.  That  night — 
between  the  coinage  of  rhymes — his  thoughts  had 
turned  to  the  oldest  friend  in  his  memory,  although 
he  had  not  seen  or  heard  from  the  lawyer  in  months. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  ancient  samovar,  Romney's  re- 
membrance on  the  occasion  of  Tony's  eighteenth 
birthday,  and  which  he  had  not  lighted  that  winter; 
or  it  may  have  been  Montaigne,  for  some  lines  he 
had  read  on  friendship,  earlier  in  the  evening,  made 
him  think  of  his  oldest  intimate. 

The  philosopher's  words  were:  "If  a  man  should 


12  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

importune  me  to  give  reason  why  I  loved  him,  I 
find  it  could  not  otherwise  be  expressed,  than  by 
making  answer:  because  it  was  he,  because  it  was  I." 

It  was  that  way  with  Tony  and  Romney.  More- 
over, the  past  bound  them  together  as  only  the  past 
can — a  past  of  tender  memories.  Romney  had  been 
his  father's  dearest  friend;  and  when  the  father  was 
summoned  by  the  Great  Usher  of  Eternity,  Romney 
had  been  his  mother's  closest  councilor. 

It  was  during  his  lifetime  that  Tony  came  to  look 
upon  the  lawyer  as  one  of  his  own  and  most  cher- 
ished possessions.  He  considered  Romney  as  a 
thoroughly  grown-up  brother,  though  the  latter  was 
old  enough  to  have  been  his  father.  Tony  shared 
with  him  all  those  manly  interests  which  a  boy  so 
ardently  harbors,  and  which  he  considers  beyond  the 
ken  of  even  the  dearest  of  mothers. 

This  friendly  intercourse  with  Romney  had  a  great 
influence  upon  Tony's  character.  Luckily  it  was  a 
sound  influence,  counteracting  to  a  happy  degree  the 
super-sensitiveness  the  lad  had  inherited  from  his 
mother.  They  apparently  grew  up  together — man 
and  boy.  Pals  they  were — with  no  distinction,  save 
in  years,  which  their  sympathies  leveled. 

So  on  that  winter's  night,  Tony  knew  his  old 
friend's  knock  upon  the  library  door. 


THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED          13 

"Enter,  old  top !"  he  cried  joyously.  And  as  Rom- 
ney  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  Tony  held  out  a 
slender  but  capable  hand,  and  grasped  the  other's 
warmly. 

Romney  responded  to  this  enthusiastic  greeting  in 
his  old,  quiet,  humorous  fashion,  looking  at  Tony 
through  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  in  which  one  might 
have  seen  a  flicker  of  anxiety.  In  the  dim  light  the 
young  man  missed  this  tell-tale  signal,  but  he  did  not 
fail  to  note  that  the  usually  smooth  and  glossy  head 
of  grey  hair  bore  rather  the  marks  of  fingers'  towsled 
combing  than  the  orderly  toilet  of  a  brush. 

"What's  wrong?"  asked  Tony,  as  he  relieved 
Romney  of  his  great  coat  and  drew  up  a  chair  for 
him  by  the  fire. 

"Be  so  good  as  to  sit  down  yourself,"  insisted  the 
lawyer.  "I  want  to  look  at  you  for  a  while" — he 
smiled — "and  then  I'll  tell  you  how  I  came  to  crunch 
the  snow  on  your  doorsill  to-night." 

Tony,  though  ever  impatient,  knew  better  than  to 
oppose  him,  so  he  obeyed,  sitting,  as  it  seemed  to 
him,  at  the  feet  of  that  tall,  soldierly  figure  standing 
on  the  hearth  rug. 

"You  haven't  changed  much  in  the  last  few 
months,"  began  Romney,  after  a  moment's  si- 
lence. 


I4  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"No,"  grinned  Tony.  "I  won't  be  twenty-five 
until  April!" 

"I  didn't  mean  that!"  He  pointed  to  the  manu- 
script of  verses  which  the  young  man  had  dropped 
upon  the  table.  "I  meant  as  to  your  convictions. 
Still  writing  verses !" 

Tony  nodded.  "And  selling  them — every  now  and 
then.  If  this  keeps  up  I  shall  be  able  to  get  out  a 
volume  of  poems  in  the  autumn.  And  then,"  he 
went  on  enthusiastically,  "I'm  going  to  try  my  hand 
at  writing  the  book  of  an  opera — something  light, 
you  know,  but  with  sense  as  well  as  rhythm  in  it — 
a  real  plot — oriental — Arabian  Nights'  atmosphere. 
I've  got  a  bully  idea !" 

"That's  interesting,  but  not  practical  just  now ! 
The  fact  is,  you've  got  to  contrive  in  some  way  to 
substantially  increase  your  income.  I  had  a  talk  with 
your  Uncle  Peter  this  afternoon,  and  he " 

"Uncle  Peter!"  groaned  Tony. 

His  Uncle  Peter,  it  may  be  remarked,  was  the  only 
other1  Quintard  of  Tony's  family,  but  beyond  the 
name,  he  in  no  wise  resembled  any  Quintard  that 
the  lad  had  ever  met.  Uncle  Peter  was  a  bullet- 
headed,  commercial-minded,  non-sentimentalist.  He 
had  in  a  thoroughly  business-like,  but  unbrotherly 
fashion,  possessed  himself  of  the  old  Quintard  man- 


THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED          15 

sion  in  which  he  had  suffered  Tony  to  live  after  the 
death  of  the  lad's  mother,  pending  the  time  when  the 
property  might  most  profitably  be  sold  as  the  site 
for  a  skyscraper.  But  as  the  years  had  passed,  with 
never  a  word  of  warning,  Tony  had  lived  on  there 
with  a  perfect  feeling  of  security.  He  was  rooted 
in  the  soil  of  the  old  garden  outside  the  window. 
He  had  the  illusion  that  it  was  his,  just  as  were  the 
two  old  servants  who  kept  it  for  him;  and  the  income 
which  came  to  him  regularly  through  Romney's 
hands. 

"Well,  what  about  Uncle  Peter?"  asked  Tony. 
He  knew  it  was  something  unpleasant. 

Romney  drew  up  a  chair.  "You  know  he  owns 
this  house?"  Yes,  Tony  vaguely  remembered  that, 
but  what  of  it? 

"Knowing  that,  you  must  be  aware  that  some  day 
your  Uncle  Peter  will  sell  it  I" 

Tony  felt  a  sinking  sensation  somewhere  in  the 
region  of  his  solar  plexis.  A  look  at  Romney's  solemn 
face  confirmed  his  worst  fears.  "He  has  sold — I 
know  it!" 

"Yes!  I'm  as  broken  up  about  it  as  you  are — 
almost!  I  know  how  you  feel,  but  you  must  buck 
up.  You're  very  young — old  things  have  to  go — 
you've  got  your  own  house  to  build — I  mean  your 


16  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

life's  house;  and  you  can't  lose  any  time  in  setting 
to  work!"  Romney  laid  his  hand  on  Tony's  arm 
to  assure  him  anew  that  he  was  standing  by  his  old 
pal. 

Tony  nodded,  as  he  bit  his  lip,  and  clenched  his 
hands.  Finally  he  spoke:  "Is  that  all?" 

"Not  quite,"  answered  Romney,  slowly.  "You 
may  not  remember,  but  your  mother's  income,  which 
became  yours  with  her  death,  was  the  revenue  de- 
rived from  a  contract,  which  your  father  made  with 
your  Uncle  Peter  twenty-five  years  ago  when  they 
were  partners.  That  contract  has  expired,  and  with 
its  expiration,  your  income  ceases.  You  understand 
that." 

Yes,  Tony  could  understand  that  enough  to  know 
its  significance;  but  that  was  a  small  matter.  It  was 
the  sale  of  the  old  house  which  concerned  him. 
"What  are  they  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  suppose  they'll  tear  it  down  and  put  up  a  twenty- 
story  office  building." 

"When  must  I  clear  out?" 

"This  month!" 

Tony  looked  about  the  room.  "I  wonder  what  I 
shall  do  with  all  these  things?" 

"Your  Uncle  will  take  care  of  them,"  returned 
Romney  casually,  rising  to  light  a  cigar. 


THE  DREAMER  AWAKENED          17 

"Oh,  he  will,  will  he,"  snapped  Tony,  belligerently. 
"What  interest  has  he  in  the  contents  of  this  house?" 

"They  belong  to  him  !" 

Tony  was  stunned  for  a  moment.  He  had  always 
disliked  his  Uncle  Peter.  Now  he  loathed  him  with 
boyish  intenseness.  Why  should  his  uncle  come  into 
possession  of  all  these  dear  and  intimate  things,  each 
holding  some  cherished  significance?  It  was  only  a 
matter  of  money.  He  would  buy  them  from  his 
uncle.  He  told  Romney  so  in  an  outburst  of  indig- 
nation. 

"With  what,  my  dear  boy,  will  you  buy  them?" 

Tony  was  crushed.  He  began  to  curse  Uncle 
Peter.  Romney  stopped  him.  "Your  Uncle  Peter 
is  a  cold  business  proposition.  No  use  wasting  breath 
upon  him.  You  have  only  to  consider  his  proposal. 
Mind  you,  Tony,  it  isn't  my  idea.  It  is  his.  I  merely 
promised  to  put  it  up  to  you." 

"Whatever  it  is,  I  won't  consider  it  for  a  second !" 
declared  Tony,  as  he  paced  the  room.  "He's  an 
unmitigated  swine — I  don't  care  if  he  is  my  father's 
brother — and  you  know  what  I  thought  of  my  father. 
I  don't  see  how  they  possibly  could  have  had  the 
same  mother." 

"Then  I  won't  bother  you  with  this  idea  of  his," 
said  Romney. 


i8  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"But  what  is  it?  I  might  as  well  know !  "  insisted 
Tony. 

Romney  smiled.  "He  offers  you  a  position  as  clerk 
in  the  talcum  powder  factory!" 

"Hah !"  cried  the  young  man,  hysterically.  "Tal- 
cum powder!  Probably  wants  me  to  paste  labels  on 
those  dreadful  looking  ten-cent  cans!  You  can  tell 
him  for  me  that  he  and  his  whole  darned  factory 
can  go  to  the  devil !" 

"I  wouldn't  tell  him  that,"  molified  Romney.  "He 
might  be  induced  to  offer  you  a  place  with  some  of 
his  other  interests." 

Tony  sank  down  in  a  chair  for  a  moment,  thought- 
fully. Presently  he  jumped  up,  and  faced  Romney 
squarely.  "Romney,  I've  made  up  my  mind.  I'm 
going  to  stick  to  writing  verses,  and  any  other  old 
thing  that  comes  into  my  head.  I'll  make  a  living 
that  way  or  bust;, and  you  won't  hear  a  whimper  out 
of  me.  Let  Uncle  Peter  pull  this  dear  old  house 
down  over  my  head,  and  cart  away  every  blessed 
object  in  it;  but  I  won't  ask  him  for  a  job — I  won't 
take  one  from  him — and  if  he  offered  me  a  penny, 
I'd  fling  it  in  his  ugly  face !" 


CHAPTER  II. 

MEMORIES  IN  AN  OLD  GARDEN. 

TONY  QUINTARD  slept  badly  that  night  in 
the  old  four-poster,  which  had  lulled  him  to 
sleep  for  many  a  year.  As  he  rose  fatigued,  and 
looked  out  of  the  latticed  window,  his  eyes  feasted 
themselves,  for  the  last  time  he  knew,  upon  the  old 
garden  where  he  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours. 

As  he  stood  there,  he  watched  the  shadow-line  on 
the  sundial  slowly  recording  the  advance  of  the  day. 
The  morning  sun  shot  leaping  fire  into  the  frost- 
covered  branches  of  the  trees,  turned  the  leaning 
arm  of  the  ancient  timepiece  from  dead  copper  into 
gleaming  gold,  the  age-bitten  stone  into  new  life, 
and  the  gaunt  Roman  numerals,  which  time  had  bat- 
tered grotesquely  out  of  shape,  were  softened  into 
comeliness,  and  became  again  as  symmetricali  as 
when  graven  by  the  artisan  now  three  centuries  dead. 

It  was  the  sentinel — that  sundial — of  the  old 
Dutch  garden,  now  fast  asleep  under  the  snow,  and 


2O 

the  straw-bound  coverings  with  which  the  old  gar- 
dener had  wrapped,  against  the  frost,  the  most  cher- 
ished plants.  Only  the  ivy,  wind-shaken  free  from 
snow,  glistened  green  and  entwined  itself  about  the 
sundial,  symbolizing  for  Tony  the  many  memories 
which  twined  themselves  for  him  about  that  rugged 
sentinel.  That  venerable  object  itself  might  have 
recalled  that  it  had  tolled  off  the  hours,  days,  weeks, 
months  and  years  of  many  a  generation  that  lived 
and  died  beneath  the  lowering  eyes  of  that  old  dwell- 
ing. 

Across  Tony's  vision  floated  a  small  pattern  of 
himself,  lying  at  full  length  on  the  greensward  in  the 
springtime,  with  the  pedestal  of  the  dial  for  a  pillow, 
"thinking  songs,"  which  was  one  of  his  favorite 
forms  of  play.  These  songs  were  full  of  birds  and 
flowers  and  faries,  and  a  little  later  filled  with  the 
images  of  Shakespeare's  heroes  and  heroines,  whose 
asquaintance  he  first  made  in  Lamb's  Tales.  These 
in  turn  led  him  precociously  to  dip  into  the  master 
poet's  works  themselves,  and  he  came  out  with  many 
a  trick  clinging  to  him. 

Surely  if  Orlando  could  write  verses  on  the  bark 
of  trees,  Anthony  Quintard  at  twelve  could  do  as 
much.  He  smiled  that  sad  morning,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  garden  and  thought  of  the  scoldings  he  had 


MEMORIES  OF  AN  OLD  GARDEN      21 

got  from  the  gardener  for  hacking  away  at  that  lordly 
maple,  which  still  bore  the  scars  of  his  boyish  jingles. 
How  full  of  purpose  he  was  then  to  own  a  forest 
where  he  might  hack  away  without  molestation. 

It  was  his  mother  who  finally  induced  him  to  put 
his  songs  on  paper  tablets  rather  than  on  trees.  It 
was  much  more  practical,  and  easier.  Furthermore, 
you  could  tear  up  the  paper  when  the  rhymes  were 
not  right  and  begin  anew;  but  you  couldn't  tear  up 
trees.  It  wasn't  done. 

He  found  more  facility,  too,  with  his  pencil  than 
with  his  pen-knife.  So  much  so  that  some  of  his 
verses  actually  challenged  the  serious  attention  of 
his  mother. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  pretty  idea?"  she  had 
asked  him. 

"Oh,"  he  had  replied,  "it  just  popped  out  of  my 
head." 

"Out  of  your  head?"  she  smiled.  "I  thought 
ideas  popped  into  one's  head." 

"No — no,  dear  mother,"  he  had  assured  her.  "My 
head  is  so,  so  full  of  them  that  they  keep  pop- 
ping out  all  the  time,  and  so  fast  that  lots  of 
them  get  away.  My  pencil  is  so  slow,  and  the  spell- 
ing so  hard,  that  it  is  all  I  can  do  to  catch  one  out 
of  ten." 


22  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

He  remembered  the  sympathetic  amusement  with 
which  his  mother  had  listened  to  him,  and  then  asked : 
"But  they  must  get  into  your  head  before  they  can 
come  out,  must  they  not?" 

"Oh,  well,"  he  had  answered,  "the  fairies — the  lit- 
tle people,  you  know — they  are  always  hiding  among 
the  flowers  and  grass  and  if  you  lie  down  and  keep 
very  still  and  pretend  you're  asleep,  you  can  feel  them 
stuffing  ideas  into  your  head  through  your  ears. 
That's  what's  going  on  when  you  see  me  pretending 
to  be  asleep  at  the  sundial.  That's  why  I  lie  so  still 
in  the  grass." 

It  was  no  effort  now  for  Tony  to  recreate  that 
scene.  Mother  and  son  were  sitting  together  under 
the  trellis,  then  all  a-plume  with  its  fragrant  wisteria 
flowering.  He  could  see  now  just  how  that  cameo 
face — all  gentleness  and  winsomeness,  an  aristocratic 
face — lighted  up  as  she  smiled,  and  playfully  said, 
"If  your  common  sense  would  only  develop  in  step 
with  your  fancy,  I'd  be  quite  sure  of  your  future; 
but  I'm  afraid,  my  dear" — and  she  drew  him  close 
to  her  as  she  spoke — "that  you  are  too  much  like 
your  father!" 

"Too  much  like  father?"  Tony  had  been  sur- 
prised. He  had  believed  that  his  mother  shared 
with  him  the  idea  that  his  father  was  a  paragon. 


MEMORIES  OF  AN  OLD  GARDEN      23 

"Yes — too  much  like  your  father — to  compete  in 
that  great  market-place  they  call  the  world  I" 

"What's  the  matter  with  it? — why  can't  I  — I  com- 
pete with  it?"  Tony  had  inquired  sturdily. 

"Because  it  never  quite  appreciates  men  like  your 
father." 

"I'll  make  it  appreciate  me — you  see  if  I 
don't!" 

At  that  the  mother  leaned  forward  with  sudden 
impulse  and  took  her  boy  in  her  arms.  "If  you  feel 
like  that,  and  never  let  failure  discourage  you — never 
accept  what  you  cannot  repay — never  lose  faith  in 
yourself — be  firm  without,  but  keep  yourself  gentle 
within — you  will  succeed,  my  dear.  I  only  hope  that 
I  will  be  here  to  see  you  win!" 

She  had  been  spared  to  him,  on  through  his  college 
days — which  he  thought  so  unluckily  separated  them ; 
but  compensation  came  in  the  long  vacations.  Then 
Romney  came  to  visit  them.  It  was  on  the  occasion 
of  one  of  these  visits  that  Romney  found  Mrs.  Quin- 
tard  ill — so  ill  that  it  alarmed  him.  She,  too,  felt 
that  the  time  of  her  lingering  here  would  be  brief — 
that  the  doctors  could  do  nothing  for  her.  She  told 
Romney  then,  that  when  she  had  gone,  there  was 
one  trinket  in  particular  that  she  wished  him  to  put 
in  Tony's  hands.  It  was  a  gold  locket,  which  her 


24  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

mother  had  given  her.  She  had  replaced  the  old 
picture  in  it  with  a  miniature  of  herself. 

Not  more  than  a  month  later,  Tony  had  sat  alone, 
his  eyes  blurred  with  tears,  as  he  looked  at  the 
beloved  face  in  the  locket.  The  big  house  was  still. 
The  Great  Adventure  had  called  its  chattelaine. 

These  were  Tony's  thoughts  as  he  bade  good-bye 
that  morning  to  the  old  house  and  its  garden — the 
shrine  of  his  dearest  memories. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  LODGING  FOR  A  POET. 

DISTRESSED     over    Tony's    circumstances, 
knowing  that  all  that  the  lad  possessed  was 
little  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  in  bank, 
Romney  importuned  the  boy  to  accept  one  or  another 
position  he  had  pried  open  for  him.     Fearful,  at 
last,  of  hurting  his  old  friend;  fearful  that  insistance 
might  make  him  yield  against  his  will,  Tony  dis- 
appeared and  purposely  left  no  trail  behind  him. 

Possessed  of  a  determination  of  making  his  living 
by  writing  verse,  or  whatever  else  came  to  his  hand, 
he  resolved  that  he  would  keep  going  about  the 
task  in  his  own  way,  refusing  the  assistance  that 
Romney  only  too  gladly  extended  to  him.  Pride, 
ground  deep  into  his  uttermost  consciousness,  bade 
him  stand  or  fall  by  himself.  The  little  money  he 
had  would  keep  him  for  a  while  at  least.  It  must. 
But  there  was  need  of  the  strictest  economy.  The 
hotel  where  he  had  spent  the  first  week  after  leav- 

25 


26  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

ing  the  old  house  should  no  longer  harbor  him.  He 
must  seek  humbler  lodgings — he  and  his  one  trunk — 
and  his  manuscripts. 

He  found  it — away  down  town,  near  Washington 
Square.  On  a  corner  stood  one  of  those  none-too- 
handsome  mansions,  designed  in  the  70*8,  a  spacious 
edifice,  the  home  of  Morris  T.  Caner,  who  carried 
mines  in  his  vest  pocket  and  railroads  dangling  from 
his  watch  chain.  The  house  was  not  big  enough  for 
Caner.  He  wanted  to  extend,  to  build  an  art  gallery 
on  the  site  of  the  older  brown-stone  dwelling  next 
door,  whose  dingy  front  was  the  scandal  of  the 
street.  But  the  owner  of  that  dilapidated  house  got 
wind  of  the  millionaire's  desire  and  fixed  an  exorb- 
itant price  on  his  property.  Caner  refused  to  be 
robbed,  as  he  put  it,  and  the  rookery's  tenant,  a 
shabby,  towering  woman  who  boasted  of  Southern 
respectability,  remained  to  harass  her  lodgers  for 
their  rent. 

Tony  carried  on  negotiations  with  this  creature  to 
a  successful  issue.  He  occupied  the  attic,  with  a  fine 
rear  view  over  the  roofs,  and  a  prospect  on  one 
side  of  Caner's  uppermost  windows.  He  paid  two 
dollars  a  week  for  this  garret,  and  felt  himself  lucky 
at  that,  even  though  it  was  unfurnished.  He  wanted 
little.  He  bought  himself,  at  a  junk  dealer's,  a 


A  LODGING  FOR  A  POET  27 

second-hand  Gloucester  hammock  for  a  bed.  At 
another  shop  he  acquired  a  well-worn  kitchen  table 
and  a  hideously  upholstered  but  comfortable  straight- 
backed  chair,  which  had  once  been  the  feature  of  a 
suite;  a  washstand  and  the  things  that  go  with  it. 
There  was  a  shelf  in  one  corner  of  his  habitation. 
He  hung  a  piece  of  calico  therefrom  and  made  him- 
self a  wardrobe.  A  soap  box  answered  for  a  second 
chair  in  case  he  should  ever  have  a  visitor;  and  there 
was  the  trunk.  He  placed  it  against  the  railing, 
which  balustraded  the  trap  through  which  he  made 
entrance  and  exit  by  way  of  a  rickety  pair  of  stairs 
to  the  hall  below. 

The  attic  was  bitter  cold.  There  was  a  register  in 
the  floor,  but  what  heat  originated  in  the  cellar  van- 
ished utterly  before  it  could  ascend  to  that  high 
altitude.  Luckily  he  was  well  supplied  with  clothing. 
He  worked  in  a  fur  overcoat,  his  feet  in  woolen 
stockings.  And  for  service,  he  found  the  ready  as- 
sistance of  one  Jerry  Primrose,  the  factotem  of  the 
house,  who,  out  of  a  wealth  of  experience,  recognized 
in  Tony  Quintard  a  gently  bred  youth — the  sort  that 
he  had  delighted  in  caring  for  in  days  that  were  fairer 
than  those  now  vouchsafed  to  him. 

Primrose  had  been  a  well-trained  servant  and  knew 
his  place.  Tony  liked  him  at  once,  and  the  old  man 


28  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

soon  came  to  look  upon  the  lad  with  genuine  affec- 
tion. He  was  rather  a  picturesque  figure  in  his  way, 
with  his  shock  of  grey  hair,  surmounting  a  florid 
face,  a  shabby  body  which  was  supported  by  shuf- 
fling legs  and  somewhat  uncertain  feet.  They  were 
both  in  a  way  derelicts,  the  one  at  the  beginning,  the 
other  at  the  end— or  very  close  to  the  end  of  his 
tether. 

Whenever  he  could  spare  a  moment  from  his 
arduous  labors  below  stairs,  whenever  he  could  es- 
cape from  the  argus  eye  of  the  landlady,  whom  Tony 
had  dubbed  "The  Great  She-Bear,"  Primrose  would 
sneak  up  to  the  attic,  and  if  he  found  Tony  in  an 
unproductive  mood  he  would  tidy  up  the  room,  ac- 
companying these  ministrations  with  a  flow  of  humble 
philosophy  and  simple  wit.  And  as  time  wore  on 
he  became  as  one  closely  knit  with  Tony's  fortune, 
rejoicing  with  the  lad  when  he  sold  a  poem,  con- 
soling him  when  a  verse  was  returned  as  "unavail- 
able." 

While  Tony  worked  faithfully,  he  found  the  mar- 
ket for  his  wares  a  meagre  one.  Slowly  the  small 
bank  account  dwindled  to  nothing.  Then  it  was 
that  Primrose  became  the  medium  through  which  his 
fur  overcoat,  his  watch,  and  other  "luxuries"  found 
their  way  to  the  pawnshop. 


A  LODGING  FOR  A  POET  29 

Many  a  time  the  old  man,  bewailing  Tony's  ill- 
luck  with  never  a  thought  of  his  own,  had  suggested 
that  the  lad  hunt  up  his  old  friend  Romney  Evans — 
of  whom  he  had  heard  Tony  often  speak — and  ask 
for  assistance.  But  the  young  man  was  obdurate. 
He  preferred  to  struggle  along  as  best  he  could  in 
his  own  way;  and  he  was  by  no  means  unhappy. 
Possessed  of  a  rich  vein  of  humor,  he  had  learned 
to  laugh  at  his  misfortune.  Moreover,  hope  and 
faith  in  himself  were  strong  within  him,  and  he  had 
learned  to  make  a  dollar  go  a  long  way. 

In  spite  of  Tony's  avowed  intention  of  making  no 
call  upon  Romney,  his  faithful  servitor  could  not 
get  the  lawyer  out  of  his  head.  One  day  he  said: 
"I  ain't  wishin'  the  gentleman  no  harm,  sir;  but  ain't 
it  possible  that  he  might  up  an'  croak  an'  leave  you 
a  bit  of  money?" 

Tony  laughed:  "Don't  build  any  such  hopes.  Mr. 
Evans  is  as  hale  and  hearty  at  fifty  as  I  am  at  twenty- 
five.  Besides — why  worry,  my  dear  Primrose — we 
are  doing  very  well  as  it  is.  The  editor  of  'The 
Ladies'  Monthly  Pest'  has  asked  me  to  write  a  son- 
net for  the  October  number,  and  here  it  is  April 
already." 

"But  you  must  remember,  sir,  he's  one  of  them 
kind  that  don't  pay  nothin'  till  he  prints  your  poem. 


30  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

I'd  like  to  see  some  ready  money  comin'  into  us." 
"Money  isn't  everything,"  protested  Tony. 
"Ah,  sir,  it's  only  the  rich  as  can  afford  to  say 
that!" 

Whereupon  Tony  laughed  again.  "I  am  rich,"  he 
declared.  "I  have  your  good  company — at  selected 
intervals — and  I'm  plugging  away,  without  the  least 
responsibility  in  the  world,  at  the  work  I  want  to  do. 
No  man  could  ask  morel" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

\ 

THE   HEROINE  ENTERS. 

WHILE  Tony  was  thus  working  out  his  own 
destiny  in  his  own  way,  Romney  Evans, 
who  had  long  since  given  up  his  fruitless 
search  for  the  lad,  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  great 
mansion  next  door.  For  years  he  had  been  the  legal 
advisor  of  Morris  Caner,  not  only  in  business  but 
in  domestic  affairs.  And  as  the  millionaire's  council- 
lor, he  had,  some  fifteen  years  before  the  date  of 
this  narrative,  unconsciously  begun  to  gather  in  his 
hands  the  threads  of  Caner's  broken  love-story,  only 
to  begin  the  weaving  of  them  into  Tony's  own 
romance. 

Caner  had  married  after  he  had  made  his  first  for- 
tune in  coke — too  late  to  be  susceptible  to  the  gentler, 
modifying  influences  of  a  sensitive  woman.  He  was 
a  born  bachelor.  He  never  should  have  married. 
He  was  selfish,  strong-willed,  and,  as  so  many  self- 
made  men  are,  unyielding,  and  absolutely  intent  upon 

31 


32  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

having  his  own  way  in  everything.  When  opposed, 
he  became  obstinate.  Anyone  who  contested  his  will 
was  obliged  to  yield  or  break  with  him. 

His  wife  was  a  woman  of  real  spirit.  She  en- 
dured his  arrogance  at  first,  hoping  that  her  influence 
in  time  would  at  least  make  it  possible  for  her  to  live 
with  him;  and  still  she  hoped  on,  when  a  daughter 
was  born  to  them,  that  the  advent  of  a  child  in  the 
house  would  bring  out  the  better  side  of  her  hus- 
band's nature.  But  this  event  in  no  wise  changed 
him. 

For  the  sake  of  her  daughter,  Marjorie,  Mrs. 
Caner  suffered  the  millionaire's  unreasoning  bursts 
of  temper  until  her  own  self-respect  could  no  longer 
endure  them.  It  was  then  that  Romney  was  called 
in,  and  a  separation  arranged. 

Their  friends  were  not  surprised,  and  though  his 
intimates  among  men  still  clung  to  him,  they  did 
not  fail  to  tell  him  what  they  thought  of  him.  His 
physician,  Doctor  Thayer,  came  out  bluntly  and  said 
to  him: 

"Morris,  your  millions  have  not  improved  you. 
You  have  been  fighting  for  years  to  acquire  wealth 
and  power.  Both  are  coming  to  you,  yet  you  never 
give  quarter  in  any  contest — in  the  market  or  at  home 
— even  when  you  have,  as  you  usually  do,  all  the 


THE  HEROINE  ENTERS  33 

advantage  on  your  side.  It  has  been  the  sort  of  war- 
fare that  takes  the  refinement  out  of  a  man." 

"I  know  what  I'm  doing,  and  I  don't  ask  even 
your  advice,"  retorted  Caner. 

"You'll  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  even  though  you 
never  speak  to  me  again,"  went  on  the  physician. 
"Having  thrust  so  many  men  down,  when  a  little 
generosity  on  your  part  might  have  saved  them,  you 
have  got  rather  in  the  habit  of  brutality.  It's  a 
habit  that  clings  to  you.  I  see  it  here  in  your  own 
house.  I  don't  wonder  that  Mrs.  Caner  is  leaving 
you.  Any  woman  of  spirit  would.  You  forget  that 
in  her  home  the  woman  should  rule,  not  the  man,  no 
matter  what  sort  of  a  king  he  may  be  in  the  business 
world.  If  you  had  one  atom  of  real  generosity  in 
your  nature " 

"Generosity!"  thundered  Caner.  "What  could  be 
more  generous  than  the  provisions  I'm  making  for 
my  wife  and  child?  They'll  never  want.  They  can 
go  where  they  please,  live  as  they  please.  It's  set- 
tled." 

And  so  it  was.  Mrs.  Caner  took  Marjorie  to 
France.  At  that  time  the  child  was  five  years  old. 
Her  mother  in  due  time  placed  her  in  a  convent 
school,  whither  she  took  the  girl  in  the  morning  and 
called  for  her  in  the  afternoon.  They  lived  in  a 


34  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

charming  apartment  near  Versailles,  and  as  Marjorie 
grew  up,  her  mother  saw  to  it  that  the  girl  achieved 
all  those  accomplishments  and  attained  all  those 
graces  so  dear  to  womanhood.  But,  out  of  her  own 
bitter  experience,  she  kept  Marjorie  carefully  se- 
questered from  contact  with  young  men.  She  told 
herself  that  the  girl  should  never  marry.  That  way 
lay  unhappiness.  And  knowing  only  those  carefully 
selected  friends  with  which  her  mother  surrounded 
her,  Marjorie  was  dutifully  content;  but  she  could 
not  escape  that  instinct  for  romance,  the  innate  en- 
dowment of  all  women,  nor  some  vicarious  knowl- 
edge of  what  love  meant,  gathered  from  the 
girls  she  met  at  school  and  the  conservatories, 
and  such  books  as  were  bound  to  fall  into  her 
hands. 

It  was  not  until  her  nineteenth  year  that  the  op- 
portunity came  to  her  to  know  a  young  man  in  more 
than  the  most  casual  way.  Mrs.  Caner  was  in  the 
habit  of  making  trips  to  the  various  Continental  re- 
sorts, but  usually  out  of  the  season.  Then,  however, 
as  she  was  not  feeling  well,  and  the  winter  in  Paris 
a  more  than  usually  trying  one,  her  doctor  advised 
her  to  spend  a  month  at  Nice. 

So  they  started — Mrs.  Caner,  Marjorie,  and  her 
maid  and  companion,  Celeste  Beauclair,  who  was  as 


THE  HEROINE  ENTERS  35 

respectable  a  she-dragon  as  ever  watched  over  the 
vagaries  of  a  girl. 

They  left  Paris  in  the  dark  winter  drizzle;  they 
entered  Nice  in  the  sunlight  at  the  height  of  the 
season. 

In  the  eyes  of  the  girl,  who  had  never  before  seen 
that  jewel  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  city  was  an 
enchantment.  From  a  distance  indeed  it  looked  to 
her  like  the  top  of  a  jeweled  comb  rising  from  out  a 
sea  of  sapphire;  and  then  as  they  drew  nearer,  it 
looked  like  a  crescent-shaped  garden  filled  with  beds 
of  geraniums.  Closer  still  these  plots  resolved  them- 
selves into  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  a  smiling,  glowing 
phalanx  of  villas  and  below  them  palm-shaded  ave- 
nues spread  like  the  ribs  of  a  fan  through  the  color- 
ful ranks  of  shops  and  parks,  dwellings  and  hostel- 
ries,  and  dipped  into  the  blue,  iridescence  of  the 
Mediterranean. 

In  less  than  a  half  hour  Marjorie  sat  down  to  her 
first  meal  in  Nice,  and  about  four  o'clock  that  after- 
noon she  strolled  with  her  mother  out  on  the  prome- 
nade, which  extends  along  the  beach  front. 

In  terrible  contrast  to  the  gay  throng  on  the 
promenade  was  the  riff-raff  of  the  city  sunning  them- 
selves on  the  stony  beach  below,  like  flotsam  left 
there  by  a  receding  tide.  Never  had  Marjorie  seen 


36  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

the  upper  and  the  under  currents  of  humanity  in  such 
vivid  contrast;  never  had  she  seen  them  regard  each 
other  with  so  much  indifference;  never  had  she  seen 
them  massed  so  closely  and  yet  so  far  apart;  never 
did  the  gay  seem  so  gay,  the  wretched  so  wretched. 
It  was  though  a  silvery  stream  flowed  side  by  side 
with  an  open  sewer. 

Thoughtfully  they  turned  back  toward  the  Jardin 
Publique,  and,  as  they  did  this,  they  saw  approach- 
ing through  the  throng  a  Mrs.  Van  Camp,  a  Pari- 
sian-American acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Caner's.  She 
was  accompanied  by  a  debonnaire  young  man  of 
about  thirty,  straight  of  limb,  good-looking,  with 
dark  brown  eyes  and  a  smart  little  mustache. 

There  was  no  avoiding  Mrs.  Van  Camp.  She  all 
but  embraced  Mrs.  Caner,  patted  Marjorie's  hand 
affectionately,  and  presented  the  young  man. 

"Mr.  Walter  Nicolls,  of  New  York!" 

"How  d'  do — delighted  to  meet  you,"  he  bowed 
engagingly  to  Marjorie,  and  rattled  on  to  her,  while 
Mrs.  Van  Camp  engaged  her  mother.  "Quite  jolly 
here,  but  one  never  meets  anyone  but  foreigners.  So 
you  may  imagine  how  happy  I  am  to  run  across  a  girl 
from  home." 

Marjorie  was  interested.  Anything  American  in- 
terested her.  Her  one  great  wish  was  to  revisit  hei- 


THE  HEROINE  ENTERS  37 

native  land.  Her  mother,  though  expatriated,  still 
retained  a  feeling  of  genuine  love  for  her  country. 
She  took  particular  pains  to  instruct  Marjorie  her- 
self in  the  history  of  America.  Indeed,  she  gave  that 
her  special  attention.  She  regarded  it  as  her  sacred 
duty.  So  Marjorie  was  familiar  with  all  the  stirring 
events  which  had  led  to  the  final  establishment  of 
the  picturesque  nation  to  which  she  belonged,  and  the 
greatest  hero  to  her  in  all  the  pages  of  history  was 
George  Washington.  Moreover,  she  kept  up  with 
current  events  at  home.  American  papers  were  sent 
to  them.  Both  she  and  her  mother  read  them  regu- 
larly, with  the  avidity  of  exiles,  and  found  more  in- 
terest in  them  than  in  the  English  or  Continental 
journals  which  came  their  way. 

Thus,  when  Marjorie  found  herself  for  the  mo- 
ment vis-a-vis  with  one  of  her  own  countrymen,  she 
began  to  quiz  him  in  a  quaint,  straightforward,  al- 
most boyish  fashion.  At  the  same  time  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that  the  novelty  of  engaging  in  a  conver- 
sation with  a  young  man,  and  an  attractive  young  man 
at  that,  added  zest  to  the  encounter.  She  found  him 
responsive,  full  of  small  information,  which  is  worth 
nothing  in  itself,  and  assumes  only  such  value  as  is 
supplied  by  the  person  who  furnishes  it.  But  Walter 
Nicolls  had  an  engaging  manner,  a  real  social  gift. 


38  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

He  knew  how  to  make  himself  agreeable.  He  knew 
little  else  of  any  importance  in  this  world,  but  he 
thought  rather  well  of  himself,  for  he  was  well-born 
and  should  have  inherited  quite  a  fortune  only  his 
father  had  generously  squandered  it  before  him. 
This  left  Walter  with  a  mere  pittance,  on  which  he 
found  great  difficulty  in  sustaining  himself  in  the 
manner  to  which  he  had  been  born. 

Without  the  least  viciousness  in  his  nature — only 
a  lack  of  manliness — he  had  come  to  believe  that  the 
only  solution  of  his  difficulties  would  be  to  marry  a 
rich  girl.  In  this  he  had  been  encouraged  from 
youth,  and,  but  for  a  certain  fastidiousness,  he  no 
doubt  would  have  found  a  wife  with  a  fortune  long 
since.  During  the  past  year  or  so  he  had  met  more 
than  one  heiress,  but,  as  he  had  remarked  to  Mrs. 
Van  Camp,  "I  don't  seem  to  suit  those  that  suit  me, 
and  those  that  would  have  me,  I  wouldn't  marry 
if  they  were  hung  with  diamonds."  So  after  all,  he 
was  not  a  thorough-going  fortune-hunter. 

However,  he  was  immensely  impressed  with  Mar- 
jorie — the  more  so,  it  may  be  added,  when  he  learned 
from  Mrs.  Van  Camp  that  the  girl  would  doubtless 
come  in  for  a  large  share  of  Morris  Caner's  mil- 
lions. She  told  Walter  the  history  of  the  family,  the 
moment  they  had  taken  leave  of  mother  and  daugh- 


THE  HEROINE  ENTERS  39 

ter,  and  at  his  solicitation  Mrs.  Van  Camp  agreed 
to  do  all  that  she  could  to  further  his  acquaintance 
with  Marjorie. 

She  drew  the  girl  and  her  mother  relentlessly  into 
the  small  circle  of  her  acquaintances  at  the  resort, 
and  not  too  often  she  managed  to  throw  the  young 
people  together.  She  gave  Walter  an  excellent  char- 
acter, and  he  himself  gained  the  good-will  of  Mrs. 
Caner  to  such  an  extent  that  she  at  last  made  no  objec- 
tion to  the  friendly  attentions  he  paid  her  daughter. 

They  played  about  Nice  together  like  two  children, 
more  or  less  under  the  eye  of  the  mother  or  the 
watchful  Celeste.  She  even  succumbed  to  his  en- 
treaties to  visit  the  Casino,  and  there  the  three  en- 
tered together  one  evening. 

A  stream  of  people,  most  of  them  in  evening 
dress,  were  passing  through  the  corridor,  coming  to 
the  theatre  at  the  far  end  of  the  building,  and  others 
no  doubt  intending  to  stop  in  the  palm  room  where 
the  band  was  playing.  They,  too,  lingered  there  in 
the  huge  hall,  set  out  with  palms  and  small  tables, 
parted  with  one  broad  aisle  leading  down  the  centre 
to  the  musicians'  platform.  The  place  was  well  filled 
with  a  gay,  chattering  crowd,  mostly  French,  but 
scattered  among  them  were  a  few  English  and  a  still 
lesser  number  of  Americans. 


40  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Walter  had  secured  cards  of  membership  to  the 
Circle  International,  He  presented  these  cards  at  the 
foot  of  a  pair  of  broad  stairs  to  a  liveried  attend- 
ant, and  mounting  the  flight  they  went  through  whit 
seemed  to  be  a  reading  room  to  a  vast  hall,  chiefly 
furnished  with  tables  about  which  sat  and  stood  the 
most  remarkable  lot  of  people  Marjorie  had  ever 
seen  gathered  in  one  place. 

There  the  prettiest  of  French  demi-mondaines 
rubbed  elbows  with  the  homeliest  of  respectable  Eng- 
lish women  and  a  sprinkling  of  Russians;  while  the 
men,  who  were  outnumbered  almost  ten  to  one,  were 
of  every  sort — from  the  gesticulating  Frenchman  to 
the  ponderous,  good-natured  American  man  of  busi- 
ness who  was  seeing  Europe  and  ready  to  lose  money 
for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 

The  place,  in  spite  of  all  the  people,  was  singularly 
quiet,  oppressively,  almost  ominously  quiet.  The 
low-keyed  hum  which  arose  from  the  swarms  around 
the  tables,  where  butterflies  were  breaking  their  wings 
against  the  wheel,  no  more  disturbed  the  stillness 
than  does  the  drone  of  bees  in  a  garden;  but  now 
and  again  above  that  hum  broke  the  raven-like  croak 
of  the  croupier  with  his  monotonous,  inevita- 
ble, "Faltes  vos  jeux,  Messieurs.  Marquez  tfos 


Walter  and  his  little  party  stood  some  time  watch- 
ing the  play  at  a  table  over  the  shoulder  of  a  stout, 
perspiring  English  princess  in  a  black  decolete  gown. 
It  was  all  like  a  motion-picture — wordless,  but 
graphic.  Marjorie  was  fascinated.  Walter  ex- 
plained the  game  to  her,  and  her  quick  mind  soon 
embraced  its  intricacies  so  that  she  followed  gains 
and  losses  with  ready  understanding. 

She  was  especially  interested  in  watching  a  pale, 
shabbily  dressed  middle-aged  woman  who  was  stead- 
ily losing.  At  last  the  woman  pushed  back  her  chair 
from  the  table  and  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet.  The 
crowd  made  way  for  her.  Marjorie  followed  her 
with  a  look,  saw  her  pause  uncertainly,  raise  her 
head  and  close  her  eyes  in  an  effort  to  control  a  sob. 
It  was  perfectly  plain  to  the  girl — the  tragedy  was 
written  big  in  the  woman's  face. 

"Mother!"  she  exclaimed,  impulsively.  "Have 
you  any  money  with  you !" 

"No,  my  dear;  and  if  I  had,"  she  added  with  a 
smile,  "I  wouldn't  let  you  play.  This  is  all  very 
interesting  as  a  spectacle,  but " 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand.  I  don't  want  to — to 
gamble !"  She  turned  to  Walter.  "That  woman 
there — you  saw  her — she  has  lost  every  penny  she 
has  in  the  world — I  know  it!" 


42  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Yes,  yes — that  may  be,  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Caner 
soothingly,  "but  someone  always  loses  here!" 

Walter  had  an  inspiration.  He  took  out  his  slen- 
der pocketbook  and  offered  it  to  Marjorie.  "I 
haven't  very  much  with  me,  but  you're  welcome  to 
it,  Miss  Caner!" 

"You're  a  dear,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  as  she  began 
to  empty  the  pocketbook. 

"Marjorie  !"  protested  her  mother  sternly. 

"I  am  borrowing" — she  was  counting  the  money 
— "ten  five-franc  notes  from  Mr.  Nicolls.  I  shall 
pay  him  back  directly  we  return  to  the  hotel.  Now, 
please,  mother  dear,"  she  insisted,  anticipating  Mrs. 
Caner's  forbidding  expostulation,  and  ignoring  a  re- 
straining hand,  turned  to  the  woman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Marjorie  in  French, 
"but  I  saw  that  you — you  were  having  very  bad  luck. 
And  I — I  thought  that  perhaps  you  couldn't  exactly 
afford  to — to  lose  so  much." 

The  woman  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  Marjorie 
went  on:  "I  don't  suppose  you  would  ever  care  to 
play  again — after  what  has  happened — would  you?" 

"Play  again?"  The  woman  smiled  bitterly.  "Oh, 
I'm  done  for!"  It  was  a  bald  statement  of  fact — 
not  an  appeal. 

"Oh,  no  you're  not — 'done  for' !"  insisted  Mar- 


THE  HEROINE  ENTERS  43 

jorie.  "Of  course,  I  don't  know  anything  about  you, 
but  I'm  sure  that  just  a  little  help — a  small  loan,  you 
know — at  this  time,  might  carry  you  along  until  you 
could  find  something  better  to  do  than — than  come 
here,  where  you  haven't  a  fair  chance." 

The  woman  looked  at  her  incredulously. 

"So  if  you  wouldn't  mind,"  Marjorie  went  on, 

"I'd  like  to  lend  you  these "  She  held  out  the 

money,  tightly  rolled,  and  pressed  it  into  the  woman's 
hand.  "You  can  pay  it  back  to  me — sometime,  if 
you  like.  Please  take  it!" 

Tears  came  into  the  woman's  eyes.  She  grasped 
Marjorie's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Come,  my  dear,  we  must  be  going!"  Mrs.  Caner 
took  Marjorie  gently  by  the  arm,  and  under  the 
pilotage  of  Walter,  they  left  the  woman  standing 
there,  looking  after  the  girl  with  an  expression  of 
abject  gratitude  on  her  face  and  a  benediction  in  her 
heart. 

"She's  a  wonderfully  fine  generous  girl,"  thought 
Walter  as  he  led  them  down  the  stairway  and  out 
into  the  street,  where  the  stars  shone  down  big 
through  the  purple  night. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUNLIGHT  AND  THEN  A  SHADOW. 

WALTER  NICOLLS  had  established  him- 
self  securely  as  a  friend  of  the  Caner's. 
Although  Mrs.  Caner  did  not  entirely  ap- 
prove of  Marjorie's  method  of  administering  charity 
at  the  Casino  Municipal,  her  own  nature  was  toa 
warm-hearted  to  reprove  with  an  air  of  conviction  her 
daughter's  impulsive  generosity.  She  scolded  the  girl 
mildly,  and  when  Walter  essayed  to  take  the  blame, 
Mrs.  Caner  promptly  exonerated  him  and  assured 
him  that  she  liked  what  he  had  done.  She  also  liked 
the  considerate  way  he  had  of  dancing  attendance 
upon  mother  and  daughter  indiscriminatingly,  and 
his  simple  and  uncomplicated  intelligence,  his  charm- 
ing manners,  won  her  so  that  she  felt  he  was  a  man 
with  whom  she  could  trust  her  daughter.  She  came 
to  the  latter  conclusion,  however,  only  after  a  care- 
ful interrogation  of  Mrs.  Van  Camp  and  a  subtle 

44 


SUNLIGHT  AND  A  SHADOW          45 

questioning  of  Marjorie  as  to  the  general  trend  of 
her  conversations  with  Walter. 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  two  young  people  were 
permitted  to  see  each  other  frequently.  It  was  a  new 
experience  to  Marjorie,  to  be  on  intimate  terms  with 
a  jolly  young  man,  who  was  never  at  a  loss  to  find 
a  means  of  entertaining  her.  Sentiment  at  first 
found  no  place  in  her  calculations.  Any  thought  of 
actually  caring  for  Walter  in  a  serious  way  never 
entered  her  head  until  on  a  certain  afternoon  they 
started  out  together  to  pay  a  call  on  a  Russian  fam- 
ily, the  Nordofs,  whom  Mrs.  Caner  approved  of, 
and  who  occupied  one  of  the  most  picturesque  villas 
about  Nice. 

Their  cocher,  a  villainous  looking  old  fellow  in 
shabby  green  livery,  drove  them  at  an  abominably 
slow  gait  along  the  quai  overlooking  the  river,  which 
separates  the  old  town  from  the  new.  On  the  stones 
which  margined  the  stream  below  them  women  were 
washing  clothes  in  the  primitive  fashion  of  the  great- 
grandmothers,  and  above  them — on  the  boulevards 
opposite — a  corps  of  municipal  gardeners  were  trim- 
ming the  trees.  High  above,  spread  out  over  the 
rising  ground,  gleamed  villa  upon  villa,  each  in  its 
blossoming  garden;  and  beyond  them  the  hills,  cov- 
ered with  solemn  olives  and  evergreen,  among  which 


46  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

were  plentifully  and  luxuriously  scattered  tropical 
fruit  trees  just  beginning  to  flower,  while  still 
further  away  they  could  see  great  patches  of  yellow 
mimosa. 

The  hills  looked  as  though  someone  had  scattered 
confetti  over  a  green  carpet.  Higher  and  further 
away  still  rose  the  maritime  Alps — a  misty  pale  blue, 
with  sparkling  white  peaks,  where  the  sun  shone  upon 
them. 

At  length  they  turned  into  a  winding  boulevard 
fringed  with  orange  trees,  and  drew  up  at  last  be- 
fore the  Nordofs'  amber-tinted  villa  whose  garden 
was  riotous  with  purple  iris. 

A  French  maid  admitted  them  with  the  informa- 
tion that  the  family  was  out,  but  that  she  expected 
them  to  return  at  any  moment.  She  urged  the  young 
people  to  wait  in  the  cool  drawing  room. 

They  decided  to  do  so.  There  was  a  piano  in  the 
room.  Marjorie  went  to  it  instinctively  and  turned 
over  the  music  on  the  open  rack. 

"Do  you  play?"  asked  Walter. 

"My  professor  would  never  admit  it,"  smiled 
Marjorie. 

Walter  laughed:  "I'm  not  a  professor.  I  don't 
know  a  thing  about  music — not  a  thing;  but  I  like 
it  if  it's  got  a  tune.  It  has  an  effect  upon  me. 


SUNLIGHT  AND  A  SHADOW  47 

Really,    it    has — especially    when    I    dance    to    it." 

"You'd  better  tell  me  what  kind  of  an  effect  it 
has  before  I  begin,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  teasing 
smile. 

"Oh,  just  an  effect,  you  know — makes  me  jolly,  or 
sad — oh,  very  sad — that  is,  when  it's  sad."  Walter 
was  never  eloquent.  He  had  a  limited  vocabulary, 
and  slight  powers  of  imagination.  His  very  paucity 
of  expression  was  a  source  of  gentle  amusement  to 
Marjorie.  It  seemed  to  her,  for  all  her  lack  of 
worldly  experience,  that  here  was  one  who  really 
knew  less  than  she  did.  Moreover,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  at  times  he  was  almost  inarticulate,  his 
sleepy  way  of  speaking  made  up  in  humor  what  he 
missed  in  point  of  wit. 

She  laughed  at  him  now,  quite  frankly,  and  he, 
out  of  his  own  simple  conceit,  laughed  too;  but  as 
always  he  was  quite  confident  that  he  was  entertain- 
ing her. 

"Perhaps,"  he  went  on,  "you  sing  things.  I  think 
that  singing  affects  me  even  more  than  playing  things 
— but,  of  course,  you  can't  dance  to  singing. 
That's  my  only  objection  to  it.  I  wonder  if  you  could 
sing  to  me." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  could  sing  to  you,  though  I've  never 
sung  to  anyone  of  importance  before." 


48  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Well,  it's  time  you  began — if  you  don't  mind," 
he  said  solemnly.  "Sing  any  old  thing — I  should 
just  like  hearing  your  voice." 

Marjorie  made  him  a  courtesy  and,  seating  herself 
at  the  piano,  began  to  sing  in  a  clear,  girlish  soprano : 
"Oh,  wert  thou  in  the  cold  blast,  I'd  shelter  thee." 
The  old  ballad  was  the  first  thing  that  had  come 
into  her  hand  and  she  instinctively  sang  with  more 
than  usual  expression. 

Walter  sat  in  an  easy  chair  where  he  could  watch 
her  bewitching  profile  and  look  out  beyond  her 
through  the  wide  window  over  Nice  and  the  Med- 
iterranean. But  before  she  had  finished  he  was  on 
his  feet,  standing  close  by  the  piano,  fancying  himself 
— and  that  required  but  little  imagination — in  love 
with  her. 

When  she  finished  he  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 
She  looked  at  him  wonderingly  and  then  placed  her 
hand  in  his.  It  felt  cool  and  strong.  He  pressed 
it. 

"I — I  never  heard  anyone  sing — so — so — that  is, 
with  so  much  effect  upon  me.  You  know" — he  still 
kept  her  hand — "it  made  me  feel  terribly — eh— 
fond  of  you." 

For  a  moment  Marjorie  was  nonplussed.  There 
was  a  kind  of  light — not  the  brightest  ever  seen — 


SUNLIGHT  AND  A  SHADOW  49 

but  a  light,  in  Walter's  eyes,  that  embarrassed  her. 
No  one  had  ever  made  love  to  her  before,  but  she 
guessed  what  was  going  on.  For  another  moment 
the  idea  thrilled  her;  then  it  set  up  a  mild 
panic  in  her  heart.  She  blushed,  and  laughed  ner- 
vously. 

"If  I  should  ever  find  that  you  were  cross  at  me," 
she  hastened  to  say,  "then  all  I'd  have  to  do  would 
be  to  sing  to  you."  With  that  counter  she  withdrew 
her  hand  from  his  and  hastened  to  add:  "I'm  sure 
the  Nordofs  are  not  coming  home  for  hours.  We'd 
better  go." 

"Why  hurry  when  it's  so  comfortable  here  ?" 

"I  don't  think  we  know  them  well  enough  to  use 
their  drawing  room  for  a — a  playground,"  she  re- 
plied, and  picking  up  her  parasol,  she  called  the  maid 
to  say  that  they  were  going. 

On  their  way  back  to  the  hotel  Marjorie  took 
refuge  in  teasing  Walter  about  his  sensitiveness,  for 
he  insisted  on  keeping  to  the  same  key  that  he  had 
struck  in  the  Nordofs  drawing  room.  Marjorie 
would  have  none  of  it.  She  felt  that  she  had  adven- 
tured further  than  she  had  meant  to  go,  and  with  the 
innate  wisdom  of  a  daughter  of  the  house  of  Caner, 
she  meant  to  know  more  of  the  way  ahead  before 
skipping  unseeing  into  the  dark — no  matter  how 


50  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

strongly  her  womanly  curiosity  might  beckon  her  to 
exploration. 

Her  thoughts,  which  were  now  dwelling  closely 
about  this  young  man,  were  abruptly  diverted  when 
she  returned  to  the  hotel.  There  she  found  that  her 
mother  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  while  Mrs. 
Caner  rallied  the  next  day,  her  condition  was  such 
that  she  was  kept  to  her  bed  for  three  days.  During 
that  time  Marjorie  was  constantly  with  her,  and 
only  saw  Walter  for  a  moment  as  he  came  to  inquire 
for  the  invalid  or  bring  her  some  flowers.  On  the 
third  day  Mrs.  Caner  felt  better  and  determined  to 
return  to  Versailles,  where  she  could  command  the 
attention  of  the  physician  who  had  looked  after  her 
health  for  the  past  ten  years. 

Walter  saw  them  off  at  the  station,  but  it  was  a 
hurried  leave-taking,  and  Marjorie's  mind  was  all 
on  her  mother,  for  the  doctor  at  the  hotel  had  warned 
her  that  her  mother's  health  was  precarious.  She 
gave  the  young  man  her  address,  told  him  that  she 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  when  he  came  up  to  Paris, 
and  thanked  him  for  the  happy  days  he  had  given 
her. 

Marjorie  brought  her  mother  to  their  apartment 
at  Versailles,  and  there  re-installed  her  with  a  trained 
nurse,  under  the  watchful  care  of  an  old  friend  and 


SUNLIGHT  AND  A  SHADOW  5 1 

physician.  Complication  followed  complication. 
Marjorie  was  told  that  only  a  major  operation  could 
save  her  mother's  life,  but  before  Mrs.  Caner  could 
be  transferred  to  the  hospital,  the  summons  came. 
The  nurse  was  off  duty.  It  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon. Marjorie  had  taken  her  place.  She  was  sit- 
ting by  her  mother's  side,  holding  her  hand.  Sud- 
denly she  felt  a  slight  pressure  upon  her  fingers. 
She  looked  into  her  mother's  face.  The  sick  woman 
was  trying  to  speak.  Her  lips  moved  but  no  sound 
came  forth.  Marjorie  rushed  to  the  telephone.  She 
called  the  doctor,  and  returned  to  her  mother's  bed- 
side. The  girl  knew  then  that  the  end  had  come. 
It  came  before  the  doctor  arrived. 

Marjorie  herself,  all  alone,  closed  her  mother's 
eyes  for  her  last  long  sleep. 

It  was  not  until  days  afterward  that  she  could 
bring  herself  to  read  the  cablegrams  which  had  come 
in  answer  to  the  news  of  her  mother's  death  which 
had  been  flashed  across  the  seas.  Among  them  was 
one  from  her  father.  It  read:  "Come  home!  Draw 
on  me  for  whatever  you  need  I" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TWO  POINTS  OF   VIEW. 

IN  the  warm,  handsomely-furnished  drawing-room 
of  Morris  T.  Caner,  the  steel  and  railroad  pluto- 
crat, it  was  not  easy  to  realize  that  those  outside 
found  it  one  of  the  bitterest  winter  evenings  New 
York  had  ever  known.     Luxurious  comfort  was  the 
keynote  within,     Curtains  were  drawn  at  the  win- 
dows, steam  heat  diffused  itself  from  cunningly-hid- 
den radiators,  and  blazing  logs  in  the  great  open 
fireplace  bestowed  warmth  and  cheeriness  together. 

The  light  of  the  fire  twinkled  on  the  costly  Gobelin 
panels,  framed  in  silver,  on  the  massive  furniture,  on 
the  grand  piano,  on  the  tall  Hawthorn  vase  with  its 
cluster  of  stately  calla  lilies,  and  on  the  long  carved 
table,  with  its  priceless  porcelain  jars  from  Pekin,  its 
ivory  ornaments  from  Hindostan,  and  its  tall  can- 
delabra that  cast  a  soft  glow  upon  them  from  the 
depths  of  richly-chased  shades  made  by  the  most 
skillful  artificers  of  old  Florence. 

52 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  53 

Morris  Caner  was  not  only  a  "captain  of  indus- 
try," he  was  also  noted  as  a  collector  of  objets  d'art. 
He  cared  nothing  for  the  cost  when  he  heard  that  a 
fine  picture,  a  rare  porcelain,  a  wonderful  gem,  or  a 
unique  book  was  on  the  market.  In  such  a  case  his 
instructions  to  his  agents  were  to  get  it! 

He  did  not  trust  to  agents  altogether,  either.  In 
the  course  of  many  years  of  collecting  he  had  acquired 
a  knowledge  of  antiquities,  with  the  instinct  that  en- 
abled him  to  detect  a  fraud  without  knowing  just  how 
he  did  it.  This  instinct  comes  to  most  collectors  in 
time.  Often  when  he  learned  that  some  precious 
curio  might  be  obtained  at  a  reasonable  price  by  one 
who  understood  such  things,  he  would  go  on  a  still 
hunt  alone,  and  often  with  success. 

He  had  returned  from  such  a  hunt  that  afternoon, 
much  to  his  profit.  And  now  he  was  gloating  over  a 
beautiful  porcelain  vase — the  result  of  that  ex- 
pedition. 

It  was  half-past  six  o'clock,  and  Caner,  with  two 
of  his  men  friends,  were  getting  through  that  most 
pleasant  of  all  times  in  a  home  of  wealth,  the  hour 
before  dinner,  talking  over  things  in  which  all  were 
interested,  and  incidentally  admiring  the  host's  new 
purchase. 

The  two  frieruk  were  Doctor  Joseph  Thayer  and 


54  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Albert  Sewall,  the  latter  a  distinguished  musician  and 
composer.  The  doctor  was  about  fifty  years  of  age 
— that  is,  some  five  years  younger  than  Caner,  while 
Sewall,  with  his  leonine  head  of  grey  hair,  his  quick, 
nervous  movements,  his  clear-cut,  mobile  features 
and  his  dancing  eyes,  might  have  been  any  age  be- 
tween twenty-five  and  sixty.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
was  forty-nine,  according  to  Who's  Who.  Also,  he 
was  recorded  as  having  been  born  in  America,  not- 
withstanding that  he  had  a  rather  strong  foreign  ac- 
cent, which  people  said  was  Viennese. 

Caner  was  hovering  about  the  large  table,  on  which 
stood  the  vase  that  pleased  him  so. 

"Look  at  that !"  he  chuckled.  "Isn't  it  a  beauty — 
a  little  masterpiece?  Not  another  like  it  in  this 
country !  Not  one !  Picked  it  up  at  auction  to-day, 
right  under  Duveen's  nose.  He  never  saw  it.  If 
he  had  he  would  have  given  his  eyes  for  it.  Ha,  ha, 
ha !  Duveen !  I've  beaten  him,  hands  down.  Ha, 
ha,  ha!" 

He  took  the  vase  in  his  hands  and  held  it  under 
the  shade  of  the  nearest  candelabrum,  so  that  the 
light  could  shine  full  upon  it,  laughing  like  a  pleased 
schoolboy. 

"You  know,"  he  chuckled,  "the  wise  ones  passed 
i-t  over.  Said  it  had  no  pedigree.  But  I've  made 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  55 

rather  an  exhaustive  study  of  Asiatic  porcelains,  and 
I  guessed  what  it  was.  You  think  all  I  know  is  coke 
and  steel,  eh?  But  I've  got  an  instinct — an  instinct  1" 
he  finished,  patting  the  porcelain  with  real  pride  and 
affection. 

"Undoubtedly,"  threw  in  Albert  Sewall.  "If  you 
had  turned  your  thoughts  to  music,  in  your  youth,  in- 
stead of  to  business,  you  might  have  composed  the 
great  lost  harmony  we  musicians  have  been  searching 
for  since  King  David  swept  it  from  his  harp  strings 
and  then  allowed  to  fly  away  forever." 

"If  David  had  been  a  man  of  business  he  wouldn't 
have  let  a  good  thing  get  away  from  him,"  grunted 
Caner.  "But,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  I  don't  need  a 
catalogue  to  tell  me  when  I  see  a  genuine  antique. 
That  isn't  all.  I  bought  better  than  I  knew.  Old 
Humphries — he's  collecting  porcelains  to  send  back 
to  China — he  knows,  the  old  dog!" 

He  pranced  about  the  room  in  his  excitement,  but 
soon  stopped,  with  a  muffled  groan.  Bending  invol- 
untarily, he  pressed  a  hand  to  his  right  leg. 

"Great  Scott!  I  forgot  that  confounded  rheu- 
matism !  Never  mind.  What  do  you  suppose  Hum- 
phries told  me  when  I  showed  him  the  vase?  Why, 
it  was  produced  in  the  Ming  dynasty — about  1403 — 
Hsuan-te  reign." 


56  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  don't  want  to  see  your  old  antiques,"  laughed 
Sewall.  "I  want  to  see  your  real  flesh  and  blood — 
Marjorie!  I've  come  to  see  her!  Where's  little 
Marjorie?" 

"She  hasn't  arrived  yet,"  replied  Caner  crustily. 
"Romney's  gone  to  meet  her." 

"Humph!"  grunted  Sewall  with  some  contempt. 

Caner  ignored  him,  and  turning  the  vase  over  in 
his  fingers  lovingly,  held  it  so  that  its  cerulean  sheen 
got  the  full  benefit  of  the  light. 

"Look  here  you  two,"  he  went  on  with  enthusiasm, 
"see  that?  That's  what  you  call  Mohammedan  blue. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Doctor  Thayer  gave  only  a  passing  glance  at  the 
vase — he  was  not  an  enthusiast,  as  was  Caner — and 
pointing  to  the  latter's  leg,  said,  dourly : 

"That's  quite  a  bit  of  luck  for  you,  Morris.  But 
you've  no  business  to  be  dancing  about  on  that  rheu- 
matic leg  of  yours !" 

"It's  my  leg,"  rejoined  Caner,  resentfully 

"But  you're  my  patient.     Sit  down." 

The  doctor  thrust  his  arm  through  Caner's,  and 
taking  the  vase  from  him,  placed  it  carefully  on  the 
table.  Then  he  led  his  refractory  patient  to  a  chair. 

"I  won't  sit  down!"  barked  Caner.  "I'm  bored 
with  sitting  down!  I'll  stand." 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  57 

And  stand  he  did,  although  he  compromised  to  the 
extent  of  leaning  against  the  table.  Sewall  shook  a 
fist  at  him.  "If  you  can  stand  up,  you  ought  to  be 
down  at  the  pier!" 

"I  suppose  I  should,"  grumbled  Caner. 

"If  I  had  a  daughter  arriving  from  France  to- 
night  "  added  the  composer. 

"Well,  you  haven't,"  cut  in  Caner.  "My  daugh- 
ter's coming  home  to-night — not  yours!" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  jeered  Sewall,  "that  you're  tak- 
ing a  violent  interest  in  her  all  at  once." 

"Only  because  he  can't  help  himself,"  put  in 
Thayer. 

Caner  nodded.  "That's  the  truth !  I  tell  you,  Joe, 
I  don't  want  any  woman  in  my  house." 

"Selfish  brute!"  ejaculated  Thayer,  while  Sewall 
raised  his  eyes  and  hands  deprecatingly. 

"If  I  had  any  decent  relatives  living,  I'd  pack  the 
girl  off  to  them.  She'll  be  a  confounded  nuisance, 
I  know — a  positive  embarrassment." 

"Lovely  woman  an  embarrassment!"  exclaimed 
Sewall,  sotto  voce.  "Can  such  things  be?" 

Doctor  Thayer  placed  a  hand  on  Caner's  shoulder 
as  he  remarked,  with  sardonic  humor:  "You  know, 
Morris,  it's  barely  possible — that  you  may  like  your 
daughter  when  you  see  her." 


58  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"There  isn't  a  chance." 

"Don't  be  too  sure.    When  did  you  see  her  last?" 

Caner  reflected  a  moment,  and  the  shrug  of  his 
shoulders  might  have  meant  anything  although  hard- 
ly regret,  as  he  murmured  thoughtfully: 

"I  haven't  laid  eyes  on  her  for  fourteen  years." 

"Fourteen  years !"  came  in  a  whisper  from  Sewall. 

"I  didn't  realize  it  was  so  long  as  that,"  was 
Thayer's  comment.  "Why  didn't  you  bring  her  home 
yourself,  three  months  ago,  when  her  mother  died?" 

The  millionaire  started  up  and  angrily  paced  the 
room.  When  he  returned  it  was  with  clenched  fists 
and  down-drawn  brows  that  he  replied: 

"When  my  wife  and  I  separated,  that  was  the 
end." 

"The  end  between  you  and  your  wife  maybe,  but 
not  between  you  and  your  child.  Morris,  I'm 
ashamed  of  you." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  Doctor  Joseph 
Thayer  spoke  from  his  soul.  His  voice  quivered 
with  indignation  and  he  glared  savagely. 

"I've  done  all  that  could  be  expected  of  me  under 
the  circumstances,"  declared  Caner  in  grudging  apol- 
ogy. "I  made  no  fuss  when  my  wife  took  Marjorie 
away.  I  always  gave  them  all  the  money  they  could 
spend." 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  59 

"Did  you  ever  give  Marjorie  a  thought?" 

"I  gave  her  an  allowance — a  damn  big  one." 

"Did  you  ever  write  your  daughter  a  single 
letter?" 

"Yes  I  did,"  answered  Caner,  triumphantly.  "I 
wrote  her  when  I  got  word  of  her  mother's  death." 

"I'm  glad  you  did  that  much  to  comfort  her." 

"Yes,  I  told  her  to  draw  on  me  for  whatever  she 
wanted." 

"Very  tender!"  grunted  Doctor  Thayer.  "You  say 
you  wrote  to  her.  But  I  know  that  Romney  Evans 
spared  you  even  that  feeble  effort?" 

Morris  Caner  shifted  uneasily  from  his  sound  leg 
to  the  rheumatic  one,  and  back  again,  as  he  snapped: 

"What's  the  use  of  having  a  lawyer  if  he  can't 
write  an  occasional  letter  for  you?  Besides,  Romney 
likes  writing  in  words  of  one  syllable.  I  don't." 

Thayer  looked  at  the  man  of  many  corporations — 
whose  word  in  Wall  Street  could  make  other  million- 
aires tremble — and  the  look  expressed  withering 
contempt.  Then  he  said,  slowly  and  emphatically : 

"Morris,  you've  succeeded  in  everything  in  this 
life — except  as  a  father.  Yes,  by  Jove,  in  that  you've 
been  a  failure — a  failure,  Morris.  Just  as  much  as 
any  drunken  old  slob  who  neglects  his  family.  In 
fact,  you're  a  h— 1  of  a  father  1" 


60  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Caner  turned  on  him  hotly,  banging  a  fist  down 
on  the  table. 

"You  didn't  know  my  wife  !" 

"Yes,  I  did!"  thundered  Thayer.  "She  was  a- fine 
woman.  She  had  too  much  spirit  to  put  up  with  your 
temper!" 

"My  temper?  She  was  the  most  obstinate  woman 
that  ever  lived.  Why,  she  died  just  to — to — irri- 
tate me." 

Sewall,  from  behind  the  cloud  of  his  cigar  smoke, 
shot  out  the  remark:  "All  I've  got  to  say  is  that  I 
hope  you'll  treat  the  daughter  better  than  you  did 
the  wife." 

"I  won't  take  any  nonsense  from  Marjorie.  You 
can  depend  on  that,"  was  the  sharp  rejoinder. 

Doctor  Thayer  shook  his  head  with  a  cold  smile, 
as  if  he  considered  Caner  hopeless.  But  he  didn't 
say  so.  Instead:  "Then  take  some  advice  from  me, 
Morris.  Lavish  a  little  attention  on  her.  Treat  her 
as  if  she  were  your  pet  railroad.  Remember,  you  old 
grouch,  she  is  your  only  child — your  heiress." 

"Heiress?  H'm!  More  trouble!  Men  after  her 
for  my  money." 

"There's  the  pity  of  it — for  her!"  exclaimed  the 
doctor.  "It  will  be  your  part,  as  her  father,  to  pre- 
vent her  being  annoyed  or  cajoled,  or " 


TWO  POINTS  OF  VIEW  61 

"It's  happened  already,"  said  Caner,  in  a  low  tone, 
as  he  saw  that  Sewall  was  out  of  hearing  at  the  back 
of  the  piano,  looking  over  some  sheet  music.  "Some 
cub  she  met  in  Nice  last  summer — Nicolls  is  his 
name.  Impudent  young  beggar !  Called  at  my  office 
a  few  weeks  ago.  Gave  me  the  idea  that  he  and 
Marjorie  are  pretty  close  friends.  Damn  him !" 

"Have  you  taken  the  trouble  to  look  him  up?" 

"Yes,  I  have!  He's  a  drone,  a  waster,  a  parasite, 
brought  up  with  a  notion  that  all  he  has  to  do  is  to 
marry  some  rich  girl!"  Caner  waxed  more  angry  as 
he  talked.  "But  I  won't  have  him  in  my  family! 
I'll  break  his  infernal  neck  first!" 

"I  wouldn't  do  that,"  laughed  Doctor  Thayer. 
"Some  other  family  might  want  him,  if  yours 
doesn't." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Caner.  Then,  as  he 
saw  a  liveried  servant  in  the  room,  he  asked,  sharply : 
"Well,  Blodgett,  what  is  it?" 

"Miss  Marjorie  Caner!  Mr.  Romney  Evans!" 
announced  Blodgett  with  the  stony  detachment  of  the 
well-trained  footman. 

"Good  Lord!"  groaned  Caner  cavernously,  as  the 
girl  and  her  escort,  followed  by  the  faithful  Celeste, 
appeared  on  the  threshold  of  his  drawing-room. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG,  STRANGE  HOUSE 

FRAMED  in  the    tapestried    doorway,   stood 
Marjorie,  dressed  in  the  deepest  of  French 
mourning,  looking  like  a  little  black  butterfly 
whose  drooping  wings,    buffeted  by  an    unfriendly 
wind,  had  carried  her  into  a  strange,  forbidding  gar- 
den.    Her  pale,  oval  face,  under  the  chic  hat,  was 
caressed  by  tiny  tendrils  of  pale  gold  hair,  and  light- 
ed by  two  grey  eyes  whose  dark  lashes  momentarily 
swept  the  cheeks    beneath    them,  to  be  as    quickly 
lifted  in  wistful  question. 

The  girl  knew  enough  of  the  character  of  her 
father  not  to  anticipate  a  happy  return  to  that  home 
from  which  she  had  been  exiled  for  fourteen  years, 
but  she  was  optimistic  and  felt  that  with  tact  she 
might  finally  succeed  where  her  mother  had  failed. 

So  she  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  three 
men,  scattered  about  the  room  like  so  many  wax 
figures,  and  with  a  wondering  smile  asked: 

62 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG  HOUSE      63 

"Which  is  my  papa?" 

Caner,  looking  the  least  little  bit  shamefaced,  but 
still  with  the  echo  of  a  growl  in  his  deep  voice,  took 
a  step  toward  the  girl  and  said: 

"I'm  your  father!" 

Having  made  this  announcement,  he  seemed  not 
to  know  what  to  do  next.  So  he  put  out  a  fishy  hand 
and  jerked  out: 

"How  do  you  do?" 

Marjorie  took  the  hand,  and,  very  much  to  Caner's 
embarrassment,  ventured,  hesitatingly: 

"In  France,  fathers  kiss  their — their  daughters. 
Isn't  it  done  here?" 

A  laugh  from  Sewall,  which  he  tried  to  turn  into 
a  cough,  made  the  millionaire  glance  angrily  in  his 
direction.  Then,  in  reply  to  the  girl,  Morris  Caner 
stammered: 

"I — I  believe  something  of  the  kind  is  done  in 
New  York,  just  as  it  is  in  Paris — by  some  persons. 
It — ah — all  depends  upon  how  you  feel  about  it." 

"I  feel  about  it  just  like  any  other  girl,"  returned 
Marjorie,  wistfully.  "But  perhaps  you — you  don't 
feel  about  it  like — some  fathers.  You  see,  I'm  rather 
a — a  strange  daughter  to  you." 

"For  God's  sake,  kiss  the  girl  1"  exclaimed  Sewall, 
as  if  he  could  not  bear  the  strain  any  longer. 


64  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I'm  going  to — I'm  going  to  !"  snapped  Caner. 

"I  wish  she  was  my  daughter,"  murmured  Albert 
Sewall  to  himself. 

"You  know,  papa,"  put  in  Marjorie,  with  a  mis- 
chievous smile  dimpling  the  corners  of  her  mouth, 
although  her  eyes  showed  that  she  was  perilously 
near  tears,  "you  have  to  begin  some  time,  so  it  may 
as  well  be  now  !" 

"I  suppose  so,"  was  his  gruff  response. 

He  bent  down  and  pecked  at  her  cheek,  as  she 
kissed  him  daintily. 

"There,"  laughed  Marjorie.  "It's  all  over.  You 
didn't  mind  very  much — did  you?" 

"Mind  it?"  he  returned,  with  a  grunt.  "Why 
should  I  mind  it?  I  may  not  be  the  perfect  pattern 
of  a  father,  but  I  dare  say  I'm  no  worse  than  you 
expected." 

"I  think  you  are  going  to  turn  out  very  well,"  she 
assured  him. 

"Then  you're  not  disappointed  in  me,  eh?" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  did  not  comprehend 
the  full  meaning  of  the  query.  There  was  a  touch  of 
sarcasm  in  his  tone,  as  if  he  wanted  her  to  realize 
that  it  would  make  no  particular  difference  what  her 
sentiments  might  be. 

"Oh,  no,"  she    answered.      "I    was  afraid    you 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG  HOUSE      65 

wouldn't  care  to  have  me  here  at  all.  But  you  seem 
to  be — to  be — er — quite" — she  paused,  as  if  trying 
to  hit  on  a  suitable  word,  and  finally  came  out  with — 
"cordial." 

Again  that  distressing  high-pitched  laughter, 
smothered  by  a  cough,  from  Albert  Sewall. 

"You  really  are  glad  to  see  me,  papa?"  and  there 
was  a  world  of  wistfulness  in  the  question. 

"Eh?"  he  blurted  out.    "What— what's  that?" 

Doctor  Thayer  lost  patience  and  hurled  himself 
headlong  into  the  limping  colloquy. 

"Of  course  you're  glad  to  see  her  I"  he  insisted. 
"Tell  her  how  glad  you  are." 

"Yes — yes.     I'm  glad — certainly,"  obeyed  Caner. 

"Thank  you,  papa.  That's  going  to  make  it  ever 
so  much  easier  for  me." 

"You're  a  strange  little  thing." 

It  had  escaped  him  almost  before  he  knew  he  had 
spoken.  The  girl  took  it  up  quickly. 

"I  do  feel  a  little  strange,"  she  admitted,  with  a 
stifled  sigh.  "I  suppose  that's  because  I've  been  away 
from  home  so  long."  Then,  rather  dolefully:  "This 
big  place  is  'home,'  isn't  it?" 

"Naturally." 

Her  father's  cold  assurance  gave  her  little  com- 
fort. She  seemed  more  forlorn  than  ever,  as  she 


66  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

looked  about  and  murmured:  "Home!"  Then,  in 
nervous  haste,  "Where's  Romney?  Oh,  there  you 
are." 

She  took  Romney  Evans's  proffered  hand  and 
clung  to  him  as  if  for  protection  against  the  spacious 
magnificence  and  the  coldness.  She  felt  as  if  it  were 
crushing  and  chilling  her. 

"And  this  is  Doctor  Thayer,"  introduced  Caner, 
adding,  with  a  dry  smile :  "One  of  the  most  disagree- 
able friends  I  have." 

"You  don't  look  a  bit  disagreeable,"  she  said,  shyly 
offering  her  hand  to  the  doctor. 

"And  I'm  not,  either,  my  dear,"  he  answered.  "I 
only  wish  I  were  an  uncle,  or  a  brother,  of  yours — 
anything  that  would  entitle  me  to  a  kiss." 

"Perhaps,  when  I  know  you  better " 

"Good  Lord !  interrupted  her  father.  "You  don't 
need  to  kiss  every  man  you  meet." 

"I  know  that,  papa.  But  I  had  to  hug  Romney  at 
the  pier.  I  couldn't  help  it.  We've  been  such  friends, 
writing  to  each  other  for  years."  She  put  her  hand 
trustfully  in  his.  "Haven't  we,  Romney?" 

"Indeed  we  have,"  returned  Romney  Evans,  pat- 
ting her  hand  gently. 

"And,  papa,  I  knew  him  right  away,  as  soon  as  I 
saw  him  on  the  wharf.  Didn't  I,  Romney?" 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG  HOUSE      67 

"Yes,  and  she'd  never  even  seen  a  photograph 
of  me." 

"But  he'd  written  me  such  a  cunning  description 
of  himself.  He  told  me  to  look  for  a  tall,  grey- 
headed man,  with  a  little  red  feather  in  his  hat.  And 
there  he  was,  holding  up  his  hat,  so  that  I  could  see 
the  red  feather  and  his  grey  head  at  the  same  time.  I 
hope  you  didn't  catch  cold,  Romney.  To  think  of 
such  a  smart  man  putting  a  red  feather  in  his  silk 
hat  and  waving  it  about,  just  for  me !" 

"Hah!"  grunted  Caner,  visualizing  the  picture 
with  grim  humor  and  inadvertently  stamping  with 
his  game  boot.  Then,  with  a  groan,  he  lifted  his 
foot  from  the  floor,  and  leaning  on  the  table,  mut- 
tered : 

"Deuce  take  it!" 

"Oh,  papa !"  cried  Marjorie,  full  of  contrition.  "I 
forgot.  Please  forgive  me.  How  is  your  foot? 
Romney  told  me  about  it." 

"Bad — very  bad,"  he  replied,  with  a  look  of  re- 
sentment at  his  physician. 

"What  arc  you  giving  him,  doctor?'*  inquired 
Marjorie  in  the  most  practical  manner. 

"Aspirin." 

"That's  good.    I  know.    Mother  and  I " 

She  stopped,  turned  her  back  to  them,  put  a  hand- 


68  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

kerchief  to  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then  recover- 
ing her  composure,  went  on : 

"When  we  were  in  Paris  we  had  a  concierge  with 
rheumatism.  We  gave  him  aspirin  every  two  hours  I 
It  cured  him.  And  surely  if  it  would  cure  a  concierge 
it  ought  to  cure  papa."  She  appealed  to  Thayer. 
"Perhaps  he  doesn't  obey  your  orders!  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  is  a  very  good  patient.  Men  aren't !" 

"Your  father  is  the  worst  patient  in  the  Western 
Hemisphere,"  declared  Thayer,  vehemently. 

"I  thought  so.  Papa,  have  you  taken  your  medi- 
cine?" 

"I — I  don't  remember,"  was  the  hesitating  reply. 

"Where  is  your  medicine?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  admitted,  silently. 

She  shook  her  head  at  him  in  reproof,  while  Albert 
Sewall  chuckled  at  the  back  of  the  piano. 

"But,  papa,  you  must  take  it — at  once.  How  are 
we  to  get  you  well  if  you  don't  ?" 

"All  right,"  he  grumbled.  "I'll  take  it.  I'll  take 
it.  Now  run  along  and  dress  for  dinner.  And — ah — 
look  here,  Marjorie," 

"Yes,  papa?" 

He  pointed  to  her  black  dress  with  an  impatient 
gesture. 

"I  don't  want  you  dressed  like  that.    It's  too  much 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG  HOUSE      69 

black  for  a  little  girl  like  you.  I  want  you  to  take  it 
off.  Take  it  all  off." 

Marjorie  looked  at  him  wide-eyed,  solemnly.  She 
felt  behind  her  for  Romney  Evans's  hand,  and  he  took 
hers  and  held  it  comfortingly.  Then,  speaking  very 
softly,  she  said: 

"But,  papa,  I  wear  this  for — mother." 

"I  know— I  know!"  he  cut  her  off.  "But  I'd 
rather  see  you  in  a  more  cheerful-looking  frock." 
Disregarding  her  wondering,  sorrowing  look,  he 
called:  "Blodgett!" 

Blodgett,  the  imperturbable,  stepped  into  the 
room.  Evidently  he  had  been  not  far  away. 

"Marjorie,"  continued  her  father,  "this  is  Blod- 
gett. Blodgett,  show  Miss  Marjorie  and  her  maid 
to  their  rooms." 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  Blodgett.  Then,  taking  a 
letter  from  his  pocket  he  handed  it  to  Marjorie. 
"This  came  for  you  this  morning,  miss." 

"Thank  you."  She  took  the  letter,  glanced  at  the 
superscription,  and  blushed  slightly. 

Marjorie  made  a  dignified  bow  to  the  men,  and 
smiled  faintly  at  Albert  Sewall's  rather  extravagant 
bow  in  return.  Then  she  followed  Blodgett  and 
Celeste  out  of  the  room. 

"You  saw  that  letter,  Romney?"  exclaimed  Caner, 


70  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

in  repressed  excitement,  as  his  daughter  disappeared. 
"It  was  Nicolls's  monogram  on  the  enevelope." 

"Indeed?  You  need  not  be  uneasy,"  was  Rom- 
ney's  response.  "I  mentioned  Nicolls  to  Marjorie 
coming  up  in  the  car." 

"You  did?    What  did  you  say  to  her?" 

"I  suggested — mildly — that  she  must  be  sure  the 
young  man  has  not  been  more  dazzled  by  her  wealth 
than  her  beauty." 

"A  neat  compliment  to  the  young  lady!"  smiled 
Thayer.  "It  must  have  pleased  her." 

"Keep  quiet,  Joe!"  snapped  Caner.  Then,  to 
Romney:  "What  did  she  say?" 

"Nothing  much.  She  doesn't  love  him.  You  may 
rest  assured  of  that.  She  only  thinks  he  does!" 

"Romney,  has  X-ray  powers  of  penetration," 
mocked  Caner. 

"I  can  see  through  you,  for  all  the  frost  on  your 
panes,"  retorted  Romney. 

"Frost  is  the   right    word,"    remarked.    Doctor 
Thayer,  sententiously. 

"Morris,  you  may  not  realize  it,  but  that  little 
thing  is  lonely.  She  wants  something  to  love.  Nicolls 
is  the  first  young  man  she  has  ever  known  intimately." 

"Intimately!"  exploded  Caner.  "There  you  are. 
What  did  I  tell  you,  Joe?  Look  here,  Romney!  Do 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  A  BIG  HOUSE      71 

you  suppose  there  is  an  understanding  between  them  ?" 
"Possibly.     But,  from  what  I  gathered,  I  should 

say  that  Nicolls  is  merely  on  probation.     I  wouldn't 

worry  about  her — her  spirits,  I  mean."     He  paused 

in  thought  and  then  added:  "Christmas  is  day  after 

to-morrow.    We've  got  to  make  it  cheery  for  Mar- 

jorie." 

"We  will — we  will!"  groaned  Caner.     "I'll  give 

her  a  pearl  necklace — an  automobile " 

"You   talk  like   a   barbarian,"   broke   in   Romney 

Evans.     "It  isn't  presents  she  wants.     It's  cheerful 

companionship,  diversion." 

"All  right!     All  right!     I'll  give  her  a  ball." 
"Your   ideas    are   primitive!"    groaned    Romney. 

"Marjorie  doesn't  want  a  ball.    The  poor  child  is  in 

mourning." 

"Then  I  give  it  up!     I'll  leave  her  to  you.     I'll 

give  her  to  you.    Romney,  I  wish  you'd  marry  her." 
"I  would  if  I  were  twenty-five  years  younger — " 

laughed  the  lawyer,  "and  she  were  willing." 

"I'm  serious,"   insisted  Caner.     "She'd  be  safe 

with  you." 

"No  girl  wants  to  be  safe.  She  wants  to  be  happy." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it,  anyway?" 

"I    remember   what  you,    you   old   fossil,   never 

knew,"  rejoined  Romney,  with  some  warmth.  "That 


72  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

is  youth !  You  don't  know  what  that  means.  It  isn't 
middle  age.  It's  romance.  That's  what  Marjorie 
needs  to  make  her  happy — her  own  romance." 

"Pooh!"  jeered  Caner.    "Romance  is  a  myth!" 

"I  know  I  missed  it,"  returned  Romney,  sadly.  "I 
know  it.  But  Marjorie  shan't.  This  is  the  open  mating 
season  for  her,  and,  by  Jove !  I'm  going  to  keep  it 
open  for  her." 

"I'll  have  something  to  say  about  that,"  retorted 
Caner,  hotly. 

"No,  you  won't." 

"That  will  do,"  interposed  Doctor  Thayer. 
"There's  no  use  arguing  about  it!  Come  on,  Rom- 
ney. Let's  have  a  go  at  billiards." 

"Is  there  time  before  dinner?"  objected  Romney. 

"Plenty,"  declared  Caner,  rising,  rather  painfully, 
from  his  chair.  "It'll  take  that  girl  an  hour  to  pow- 
der her  nose." 

"You  can't  stand  around  and  play  on  that  leg," 
said  Thayer,  authoritatively.  "We'll  let  you  score." 

"I  won't  score,"  was  Caner's  prompt  negative. 
"Sewall  and  I  will  have  a  go  at  chess.  Eh,  Sewall?" 

"I  can  beat  you  again,"  laughed  Sewall,  as  he  gave 
Caner  his  arm  and  walked  with  him  out  of  the  room. 

"No,  you  can't  1"  retorted  the  millionaire. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WILL  AGAINST  WILL. 

LODGETT,  is  this  the  state  drawing-room 
room,  or  what?" 

It  was  Marjorie  who  asked  the  question. 
She  had  come  down,  dressed  for  dinner,  in  a  white 
gown,  and  finding  nobody  in  the  drawing-room, 
pressed  a  button  to  bring  somebody.  She  was 
insufferably  lonesome.  Even  Blodgett  would  be 
a  relief. 

"This  is  the  small  drawing-room,"  replied  Blod- 
gett, stiffly.  "The  large  drawing-room,  the  music- 
room  and  the  gallery  are  over  there,  miss." 

He  extended  his  left  arm  to  point.  Then  he 
dropped  it  and  stood,  in  his  usual  wooden  attitude, 
to  wait  for  orders  from  the  new  lady  of  the  house. 

The  butler  looked  as  if  he  had  no  interest  in  any- 
thing, particularly  in  Marjorie.  But  beneath  his 
stolid  manner  there  was  already  a  very  warm  re- 
gard for  the  young  girl.  He  had  told  himself  he 
was  going  to  like  Miss  Marjorie  Caner. 

73 


74  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

She  did  not  speak,  so  he  made  a  suggestion.  It 
was  not  in  accordance  with  his  notions  of  etiquette 
to  say  anything  unless  he  were  addressed.  But  he 
felt  that  this  was  an  unusual  situation,  and  he  must 
meet  it  in  an  unusual  way.  So  he  boomed  forth 
solemnly : 

"I'll  have  the  other  drawing-room,  music-room 
and  gallery  lighted  up,  if  you  wish,  miss." 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Marjorie,  shivering. 
"This  room  is  big  enough  and  cold  enough  for  me." 

"The  thermometer  records  seventy-five,  miss," 
said  Blodgett,  more  stiffly  than  ever.  "We  try  to 
keep  the  rooms  comfortable." 

"Nobody  could  be  comfortable  in  this  room,"  she 
insisted,  "except  a  giant  and  his  family.  The  furni- 
ture is  perfectly  enormous."  She  tripped  over  to  a 
cumbersome  throne-chair  and  tried  to  move  it.  "Why 
is  everything  arranged  in  this  stiff  way?  That  dav- 
enport, for  instance,  ]ooks  as  if  it  were  posing  for 
its  photograph." 

"The  furniture  has  always  been  that  way,  miss." 

"I'd  change  it  myself — only  it's  all  nailed  down." 

"Excuse  me,  miss,  but  it's  not  nailed  down,"  pro- 
tested Blodgett,  on  whose  bumpy  forhead  the  per- 
spiration was  beginning  to  gather.  "The  things  are 
heavy,  but  they  can  be  moved  when  desired." 


WILL  AGAINST  WILL  75 

"Then  we'll  move  them  now,"  announced  Mar- 
jorie,  triumphantly.  "Help  me,  Blodgett." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss.  I  shouldn't  like  to  with- 
out Mr.  Caner's  permission.  I  hope  you  won't  in- 
sist, miss." 

"I  do  insist,  Blodgett.  We'll  begin  with  this  hulk- 
ing old  davenport.  But  we  shall  have  to  push  the 
table  aside  first." 

"I  know  Mr.  Caner,  miss,"  faltered  the  badgered 
Blodgett.  "He  won't  like  it.  He  won't  like  it!" 

The  girl  burst  into  a  peal  of  merry  laughter.  It 
was  the  first  time  Blodgett  had  heard  it,  and  he  liked 
the  sound.  Still,  this  unheard-of  disturbance  of  a 
room  that  was  held  sacred  by  everybody  dulled  his 
enjoyment  of  the  music,  and  he  groaned  as  the  girl 
replied  cheerfully: 

"My  father  might  not  like  the  change  if  we  asked 
him.  But  we  won't.  When  he  sees  how  we  have 
improved  things,  he'll  be  so  surprised  and  delighted 
that  he  will " 

"He  will  give  me  my  notice,  I'm  afraid,  miss," 
interrupted  Blodgett,  miserably. 

"Good  gracious,  Blodgett!  If  that  is  -what  you 
are  afraid  of,  I'll  take  the  blame.  Take  the  other 
end  of  that  davenport  and  swing  it  around.  That's 
the  way.  Not  that  there  will  be  any  blame.  I  am 


76  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

sure  my  father  will  be  pleased.  He  would  have  made 
these  changes  himself  if  ever  he  had  thought  of 
them." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  groaned  Blodgett. 

"Your  own  decorative  sense,  Blodgett,"  she  went 
on,  gaily,  "must  tell  you  that  this  davenport  ought 
to  face  the  fireplace.  There !  That's  splendid !  Now 
the  table !  We  want  it  against  the  back  of  the  dav- 
enport." 

The  davenport  and  table  disposed  of  to  her  liking, 
she  stood  back  to  survey  the  effect,  while  Blodgett, 
who  had  nailed  his  colors  to  the  mast,  murmured: 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  be  sorry,  miss." 

"Now,  let  me  see,"  she  exclaimed,  disregarding  his 
lamentations.  "What  next?" 

"You're  not  going  to  move  anything  else,  are  you, 
miss  ?"  ventured  the  worried  Blodgett. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  assured  him,  lightly.  "WeVe  only 
just  begun.  That  throne-chair  over  there  1  I  want  it 
right  here,  where  I  am  standing.  Can  you  move  it 
al«ne  ?  Or  shall  I  help  you  ?" 

"I  can  move  it,"  he  answered.  Then,  as  he  brought 
the  chair  to  the  spot  she  had  pointed  out,  he  appealed 
to  her  pathetically: 

"Excuse  me,  miss,  but  haven't  we  done  enough  for 
to-night?" 


WILL  AGAINST  WILL  77 

"I  haven't  decided  yet.  Now  then,  you  like  the 
chair  this  way,  don't  you  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  but,  speaking  the  truth 
as  it  comes  to  me,  I  must  say  I  think  the  old  way 
is  the  safest." 

"The  'safest'?"  she  quizzed. 

Before  he  could  reply,  the  stern  voice  of  Morris 
Caner  made  him  jump : 

"Blodgett,  are  you  out  of  your  mind?" 

Past  speaking  was  Blodgett.  He  stood  between 
two  fires,  and  both  were  scorching  him.  On  one  side 
was  this  insistent  young  lady,  who  had  taken  her 
place  as  head  of  her  father's  household  at  a  bound, 
while  on  the  other  was  the  fiery  Morris  Caner,  accus- 
tomed to  instant  and  implicit  obedience. 

It  was  the  young  girl  who  faced  the  storm  of  her 
father's  wrath,  and,  as  it  were,  invited  the  charge. 
With  her  hand  on  the  large  throne  chanr,  which, 
under  her  direction,  had  been  moved  from  its  usual 
place,  she  gazed  cheerfully  into  the  eyes  of  her 
parent  and  championed  poor  Blodgett. 

"He  is  not  out  of  his  mind,  papa.  Blodgett  has 
been  helping  me.  He  doesn't  like  the  new  arrange- 
ment, but  I  think  it  is  quite  an  improvement.  Don't 
you?" 

"I  do  not!"     He  saw  no  wavering  in  Marjorie's 


78  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

steady  gaze.  So  he  swung  tempestuously  upon  Blod- 
gett:  "What  do  you  mean,  Blodgett,  by  moving  the 
furniture  about  in  this  disorderly  manner?" 

"I  thought,  sir,  that "  began  Blodgett,  feebly. 

"You  don't  have  to  lie  like  a  gentleman,  Blodgett," 
interrupted  the  girl,  sweetly.  Then,  to  her  father: 
"I  made  him  do  it.  I  told  him  I'd  discharge  him  if 
he  didn't  .  .  .  .Didn't  I,  Blodgett?" 

"Oh,  you  did?"  ejaculated  Caner  with  biting  sar- 
casm. "You  told  him  you'd  discharge  him?  Who 
do  you  think  you  are,  anyway?" 

"Why,"  she  returned,  calmly,  "I  naturally  sup- 
posed, papa,  when  you  invited  me  to  live  with  you, 
that  I  would  be  mistress  of  the  house." 

Morris  Caner  turned  his  back  on  the  girl,  ignoring 
her,  as  he  growled  at  the  shrinking  Blodgett:  "Put 
that  furniture  back  where  you  found  it — and  see  that 
it  stays  there." 

"But,  papa,"  interposed  Marjorie,  "it  looks  so 
much  better  the  way  it  is." 

"Blodgett,  you  understand  what  I  said?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  bleated  Blodgett. 

While  Blodgett  busied  himself  with  the  furniture, 
Marjorie  moved  so  that  her  father  could  not  avoid 
her  gaze,  and  there  was  a  great  deal  of  his  own 
strong  will  in  the  clear  eyes,  as  she  said:  "It  is  not 


WILL  AGAINST  WILL  79 

polite  for  you  to  countermand  my  orders  in  this  way." 
"This  is  my  house — not  yours,  young  lady,"  he 
snarled. 

"You're  certainly  not  making  me  feel  very  much 
at  home  in  it,"  was  her  retort.  "Is  this  the  way  you 
treated — mother,"  she  added,  with  a  little  catch  in 
her  voice. 

Caner  started  angrily.  Then,  through  his  world- 
hardened  nature  swept  a  consciousness  that  perhaps 
he  had  been  rather  brutal.  Strange  for  him.  It 
was  not  his  disposition  to  acknowledge  himself  in  the 
wrong,  particularly  to  a  child  like  this.  Perhaps  he 
saw  in  the  delicate  figure  and  pretty  face  of  the  girl 
something  that  reminded  him  of  the  wife  he  had 
known  when  she  was  not  much  older  than  Marjorie. 
At  all  events,  his  tone  was  almost  gentle  as  he  bowed 
perhaps  a  little  lower  than  he  had  ever  bowed  before 
and  said  quietly : 

"Marjorie,  I  lost  my  temper.  I  beg  your  pardon." 
"Well,"  she  returned,  smiling  through  her  tear- 
dimmed  eyes.  "I  really  think  you  should  beg  my 
pardon.  Although  I  know  it  must  be  very  hard  for 
a  big  man  like  you  to  apologize  to  a  little  girl  like 
me." 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  was  his  hurried  re- 
sponse. "I  think  we  can  come  to  an  understanding. 


8o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Of  course  this  is  your  home  now,  and  the  servants 
are  to  obey  you."  He  paused.  Then,  with  a  gulp : 
"You  may  have  whatever  you  want  for  your  comfort 
or  pleasure — so  long  as  it  does  not  upset  the  present 
order  of  things  in  the  household." 

"Thank  you,  papa."  She  was  cheerful  again,  her 
spirits  rising  buoyantly  at  this  first  sign  of  human- 
ness  on  his  part.  "I  can  have  anything  I  want?  You 
mean  that,  papa?" 

"Yes !  Anything  within  reason.  So  long  as  you 
no  not  move  the  furniture." 

"Not  even  one  little  footstool?"  she  queried. 

"Not  one,"  was  the  emphatic  reply. 

Morris  Caner  hobbled  out  of  the  room. 

"Now,  Blodgett,"  admonished  Marjorie  when  they 
were  alone,  "you  heard  what  my  father  said?  I  am 
to  have  whatever  I  want." 

"Yes,  miss,"  assented  Blodgett,  doubtfully. 

"Let  me  see.  What  first?  Oh,  yes  I  I  want  you 
to  get  me  some  flowers — orchids,  and  roses,  and 
tiger-lilies,  and  jonquils,  and  yellow  chrysanthemums 
— thousands  of  them.  Order  them  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  I  shall  die  if  I  don't  cheer  this  place  up." 

"Is  that  all,  miss?" 

"No.  Are  there  any  pets  in  this  house — animals, 
birds,  fishes?" 


WILL  AGAINST  WILL  81 

"No,  indeed,  miss!"  returned  the  scandalized 
Blodgett.  "Your  father  would  not  have  anything  of 
that  kind  about." 

"Surely  the  cook  has  a  cat?" 

"The  cook  is  a  chef,  miss." 

"Well,  can't  a  chef  have  a  cat?" 

"Not  here,  miss,"  declared  Blodgett,  positively. 
"Mr.  Caner  would  not  permit  it  for  a  moment." 

"That's  because  he's  never  had  any  pets.  I  want 
you  to  get  me  a  dog — any  kind  of  dog,  an  Angora 
cat,  a  dozen  canary  birds,  an  aquarium  of  goldfish, 
and  two  or  three  pairs  of  squirrels  I" 

Poor  Blodgett,  rubbing  one  hand  over  the  other, 
while  the  perspiration  came  out  on  his  bumpy  fore- 
head as  it  always  did  when  he  was  perplexed,  shook 
his  head. 

"I  wouldn't  dare,  miss." 

"Then  I'll  order  them  myself.  Oh,  and  another 
thing.  I  want  at  least  fifty  sofa-pillows — nice,  big, 
soft  pillows !" 

Blodgett  was  saved  from  commenting  on  this  awful 
determination  of  the  self-willed  young  lady  by  a  buz- 
zing that  told  him  somebody  had  been  admitted  to 
the  front  hall.  He  hurried  out.  A  moment  later  he 
returned,  with  a  card  on  a  silver  salver. 

Marjorie,  puzzled,  took  up  the  card  and  looked 


82  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

at  it.  "Mr.  Walter  Nicolls,"  she  read  to  herself  and 
smiled,  just  the  least  bit  perturbed,  for  there,  tucked 
in  the  waist  of  her  dress  was  the  letter  from  him, 
which  Blodgett  had  given  her  almost  immediately 
upon  her  rival.  Under  the  watchful  eye  of  Celeste, 
her  faithful  dragon,  the  girl  had  only  had  time  to 
glance  through  it  as  she  quickly  dressed  for  dinner, 
but  she  saw  enough  to  make  her  lonely  little  heart 
beat.  It  was  her  first  love  letter. 

She  had  hardly  known  what  to  make  of  it.  She 
wanted  time  to  read  and  ponder  over  it  alone.  One 
thing  was  certain,  the  letter  pleased  her,  made  her 
happy,  for  it  impressed  upon  her — more  than  she  real- 
ized— that  here  was  someone  who  cared  a  great  deal 
for  her;  and  it  seemed  to  her — in  the  light  of  her 
father's 'casual,  not  to  say,  brusque  welcome — that 
fate  had  sent  the  young  man  to  her  when  most  she 
needed  him.  She  was,  indeed,  in  that  frame  of  mind, 
when  the  right  word  would  call  her  gladly  to  another 
home,  which  she  might  happily  make  for  the  man 
who  vowed  that  he  loved  her. 

All  this  and  more  shot  through  her  mind  and 
warmed  her  heart,  as  she  looked  at  the  card,  and 
finally  raised  her  eyes  and  said  with  sudden  eager- 
ness :  "Blodgett,  ask  Mr.  Nicolls  to  come  in !" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SOMEHOW,  THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  HER  FINGER. 

IN  that  brief  moment  while  she  waited  there, 
standing  behind  the  piano,  Marjorie's  pulse  as- 
cended far  above  normal.  No  lover  had  ever 
come  more  opportunely  than  Walter  Nicolls.  The 
very  fact  that  he  was  associated  in  the  girl's  mind 
with  those  last  happy  days  spent  with  her  mother  at 
Nice,  warmed  her  heart  to  him ;  and  when  he  pushed 
aside  the  draperies  which  framed  the  doorway,  and 
entered  with  his  confident,  but  quizzical  air — immac- 
ulate, debonnaire  in  his  well-fitting  dinner  jacket — 
the  girl  impulsively  held  out  a  hand  to  him  across 
the  piano,  and  greeted  him  with  a  cordial,  "Hello, 
Walter!" 

"Hello,  Marjoriel"  he  returned  and  hastened  to 
grasp  the  hand  held  out  to  him.  As  he  looked  at  her 
then,  he  felt  more  than  encouraged.  He  was  quite 
sure  that  he  had  made  no  mistake  in  losing  no  time. 
He  had  planned  this  visit  from  the  moment  that  he 

83 


84  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

had  learned  of  her  prospective  home-coming.  At 
first  he  had  intended  to  meet  her  at  the  pier,  but  his 
exchequer  was  low  and  he  could  not  picture  himself 
among  the  throng  of  welcomers  without  an  armful 
of  expensive  roses.  No,  this  was  quite  all  right,  he 
assured  himself,  although  he  did  not  even  guess  how 
timorous  she  felt  as  she  stood  there,  looking  up  into 
his  eyes,  wonderingly,  and  experiencing  a  strange  lit- 
tle thrill.  It  was  her  closest  approach  to  the  alluring 
borderland  of  romance. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind,  do  you — my  coming  so 
soon?"  he  began,  leading  her  to  a  settee  below  the 
piano.  "Heard  you  were  arriving  to-night.  Thought 
you  wouldn't  mind  if  I  dropped  in.  Wanted  to  catch 
you  alone "  , 

"Oh,  no,"  she  assured  him.  "Only  I  wasn't  ex- 
pecting you — not  to-night."  She  sank  down  on  the 
settee.  "Papa  has  some  of  his  old  friends  to  din- 
ner, to  meet  me,  or  .I'd  ask  you  to  stay." 

"Thanks,  just  the  same,"  he  chirped.  "Couldn't 
possibly  do  it.  Got  a  dinner  engagement  myself — 
stag  affair  at  the  Knickerbocker.  Taxi's  waiting! 
But  the  fact  is,  I  had  to  come  to-night.  I  have  some- 
thing for  you." 

He  dropped  down  beside  her  and  took  a  small 
jeweler's  box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 


THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  85 

"I'm  sure  you'll  like  it,"  he  went  on,  solemnly. 
"It's  a  sort  of  combination  of  Christmas  present  and 
— well,  you'll  see  1" 

He  opened  the  box  and  took  out  a  showy  white 
satin  case,  which  he  placed  in  her  hand. 

"I  selected  the  case  with  a  great  deal  of  care.  Tif- 
fany's— that's  where  I  got  it.  Wouldn't  think  of 
going  anywhere  else  for  a  thing  like  this.  Press  the 
spring,  and " 

"But,  Walter,"  she  protested,  uncertainly.    "I — " 

"Press  the  spring — press  the  spring !  Ah !  There 
you  are !  Not  a  large,  vulgar  diamond,  but  fine — 
very  fine !  I  knew  you  wouldn't  care  about  the  size." 

It  was  a  small  solitaire  diamond  ring.  She  looked 
at  it  without  offering  to  take  it  from  its  little  white 
bed. 

"It  is  pretty — very  pretty,"  she  murmured.  "But 
we  hadn't  said  anything  about  a  ring,  you  know." 

"No — not  exactly.  But  you  got  my  letter  this 
evening,  didn't  you?  I  sent  it  here." 

"Yes.  Only  I  hadn't  made  up  my  mind  how  I 
should  answer  it." 

"Don't  bother  about  that,"  he  interrupted,  cheer- 
fully. "I'll  make  up  your  mind  for  you."  He  took 
the  ring  from  the  case.  "Here's  the  ring.  Now, 
where's  the  finger?" 


86  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

She  put  her  hand  behind  her. 

"You  mustn't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  she  objected. 
"We  never  talked  about  any  subject  so — so  serious 
as  this — in  Nice." 

"You  never  let  me,"  he  reminded  her.  "You  al- 
ways put  me  off — telling  me  we  didn't  know  each 
other  well  enough.  But  since  last  summer  I've  done 
a  lot  of  thinking  about  you,  and — well,  Marjorie,  the 
time  has  come — hasn't  it — when  there  should  be 
something  definite?  So  let  me  put  this  ring  on  your 
finger,  and  we'll  be  definitely  engaged." 

Still  she  withheld  her  hand  from  him,  and  asked: 
"And  then,  what?" 

"Then?  Why,  we'll  be  married,  of  course,  just 
as  soon  as — as  you  wish.  I  suppose  your  father  will 
have  something  to  say  about  it.  What  do  you 
think?" 

"I  don't  know  what  he'll  say  at  first.  But,  in  the 
end  he  will  let  me — do  whatever  I  wish." 

"Good!"  broke  out  Walter,  in  a  relieved  tone. 
"That's  settled.  When  shall  we  be  married?" 

"Before  I  answer,  that,"  she  returned,  "so  long  as 
I  am  taking  all  the  responsibility  for  you,  I  hope  you 
won't  mind  if  I  ask  you  a  few  questions." 

"Oh,"  he  assured  her  promptly,  "I'm  all  right — 
perfectly  healthy.  I  play  a  lot  of  golf  and  tennis,  and 


THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  87 

so  on — weather  permitting.  Then,  through  the  win- 
ter, I  am  dancing  all  the  time.  That  keeps  me  in  fine 
condition." 

"You  look  well,"  was  her  dry  response.  "But  what 
I  was  going  to  ask  is,  how  would  you  take  care  of 
me — after  we  were  married?" 

"Oh,  I'll  take  splendid  care  of  you.  Never  let  you 
go  out  without  your  furs  when  it  is  cold.  And — and 
when  you  are  not  feeling  fit,  I'll  bring  you  candy  and 
flowers,  and  so  on." 

"Yes,"  she  smiled.  "I'm  sure  you  would  do  all 
that.  But " 

"That's  nothing,"  he  interrupted,  largely.  "I'll 
take  you  around  everywhere — dinners,  dances !  I'll 
show  you  what  living  is.  We'll  entertain  a  lot.  Very 
formally — footmen,  all  dolled  up,  behind  every  chair. 
Informally — that  is  where  I  come  in — cabaret !  We'll 
have  the  Castles!  They  come  high,  but  I  can  get 
them — know  them  myself.  And,  of  course,  we'll 
have  a  car  or  two.  A  big  blue  limousine,  with  my 
crest  on  it,  and  one  of  those  low,  sporty  ones  to  tour 
in.  And  we've  got  to  have  a  town  and  a  country 
house — on  an  island.  That's  where  we'll  put  our 
country  house.  I  know  the  very  island  we  want.  That 
means  a  yacht.  And  whenever  we  get  bored  stiff 
here,  I'll  just  up  and  take  you  abroad.  We  might  go 


88  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

to  China,  now  the    Continent    is   in    such   a    mess." 

Walter  rattled  all  this  off  as  glibly  as  if  he  had  re- 
hearsed it.  Evidently  a  most  fascinating  picture  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mental  vision.  To  Marjorie  it 
seemed  as  if  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  pleasures  and 
luxuries  he  named,  which  wealth  alone  can  bring, 
filled  such  a  spacious  area  in  his  mind  that  there  was 
no  room  for  the  contemplation  of  the  happiness  of 
possessing  herself.  She  was  at  best  a  secondary  con- 
sideration. 

She  brought  him  down  to  earth  by  remarking, 
quietly: 

"You  must  have  a  very  large  income." 

"What  ?"  he  almost  shouted.  "I  ?  My  dear  Mar- 
jorie, my  income  is  so  slender,  I  often  wonder  how 
it  supports  me." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  enough  to  support  me  too?" 

"Never  in  the  world." 

"I  could  be  very  economical." 

"Economical?"  he  repeated,  in  edifying  disgust. 
"I  don't  like  that.  It  is  so  unspeakably  vulgar." 

"Ah !    I  see.    You're  going  to  work." 

"Work?  I — I've  never  had  to!  What  could  I 
do,  I  wonder?" 

"You  must  have  some  talents,  haven't  you?"  she 
pressed. 


THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  89 

"Oh,  yes — yes,  indeed,"  he  began  encouragingly. 
"When  I  was  a  kid,  I  used  to  draw  things,  you  know. 
Awfully  clever  and  all  that.  But  I  didn't  keep  it  up. 
Then  I  have  a  great  ear  for  music.  I  whistle,  play 
the  drum — the  kettledrum.  I  can  play  any  old  thing 
on  the  drum.  Makes  it  awfully  jolly — with  the  pian- 
ola, or  victrola.  .  .  .  What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"Nothing!  Tell  me,  what  is  the  best  thing  you 
can  do?" 

"Dance,"  he  replied,  promptly.  "Pm  a  ripping 
good  dancer.  Only,  I  should  not  like  to  do  it  pro- 
fessionally. You  wouldn't  like  me  to  do  it — would 
you?" 

"I  don't  think  I  should.  So  I'm  afraid  we  couldn't 
depend  on  any  of  your — talents.  That  brings  us 
down  to  your  really  working  for  me." 

"You  want  me  to  go  into  business?"  he  asked,  in 
an  awe-stricken  tone.  "Work?" 

"Why  not?    You  could.    Men  do." 

"But  I  haven't  any  leaning  that  way,"  he  wailed. 
"If  I — I  got  a  job,  I'd  be  fired  the  first  week.  Be- 
sides, it  would  not  agree  with  me." 

"It  was  only  my  suggestion.  I  don't  know.  Per- 
haps you  have  a  better  idea?" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Obviously  Walter  Nicolls 
had  received  a  painful  shock.  He  coughed  in  em- 


90  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

barrassment  before  he  proceeded,  then,  gathering 
courage,  he  plunged  in  with:  "Er — I — I  rather 
thought  that — that  your  father — er — might  sort  of 
— you  know — set  us  up,  as  it  were,  to  begin  with — 
and — and " 

He  trailed  off  into  inaudibility,  as  it  penetrated  his 
rather  thick  perception  that  the  girl  was  viewing  him 
with  unutterable  disappointment.  At  last  she  spoke : 

"Oh,  that  was  your  idea?" 

"Isn't  it  the  natural  idea?"  he  defended  his  posi- 
tion. "You're  his  only  child,  aren't  you?" 

"And  you  think  he  is  certain  some  day  to  leave  me 
all  his  money?" 

"It  seems  likely.  Even  if  he  went  a  bit  dotty  in 
his  old  age,  and  began  to  boost  charity  and  all  th?t 
sort  of  thing,  you'd  be  bound  to  come  in  for  all  we— 
I  mean,  all  you — would  need.  Why,  only  last  month 
your  father  paid  half  a  million  for  some  musty  old 
paintings  not  much  larger  than  a  double  sheet  of 
music.  He  considered  them  worth  the  money  because 
they  were  knocked  off  by  some  old  fossil  a  few  hun- 
dred years  ago.  If  he  can  afford  that,  I  should  think 
he'd  be  willing  to  do  something  pretty  nifty  for  you 
— when  you — er — marry.  That  is,  if  you  put  it  up 
to  him  in  the  right  way." 

Marjorie's  head  had  drooped,  and  she  had  turned 


THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  91 

away  from  him.     He  continued  hopefully: 

"I  know  he's  an  uncomfortable  old  bird  to  ap- 
proach. But  you  could  get  around  him.  A  girl  al- 
ways can." 

It  was  then  that  she  rose  and  turned  away  from 
him,  miserably  disillusioned.  When  she  spoke,  her 
voice  was  even,  dull,  but  firm. 

"Perhaps  I  could  'get  around  him,'  as  you  say — 
but  I  won't !" 

"You  won't?    Why  not?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  too  much  pride  to  ask  my 
father  to  support  the  man  I  intend  to  marry." 

She  shut  the  ring  in  the  case  and  handed  it  to  him. 
He  took  it  mechanically,  but  continued  to  hold  it  out 
toward  her,  as  he  faltered: 

"I  did  not  get  this  for  myself,  you  know." 

She  shook  her  head  to  indicate  that  the  incident 
was  closed,  but  Nicolls  persisted:  "Just  because  I 
thought  your  father  might " 

"Please — please,  don't  go  over  all  that  again,"  she 
entreated,  and  held  out  her  hand.  "Good-bye !"  Her 
tone  was  even,  colorless. 

"Marjorie,"  he  complained,  disregarding  her  hand 
and  giving  the  jewel  case  a  toss  before  tucking  it 
in  his  pocket,  "you'll  be  sorry  for  treating  me  like 
this." 


92  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  am  sorry — sorry  that  you  are  not  different!" 

He  could  not  understand  her  point  of  view.  It  was 
absolutely  beyond  his  ken.  "But,"  he  insisted,  blind- 
ly, "you  liked  me  a  great  deal — when  we  were  trot- 
ting around  in  Nice." 

"I  liked  you  then  because  I  thought  you  were  the 

kind  of  man  that "  She  could  not  say  it.  But 

out  of  her  heart  came  a  little  cry  of  genuine  disap- 
pointment and  something  more  than  that,  which  pene- 
trated even  Walter's  dull  intelligence:  "Oh,  Walter!" 

He  frowned,  hesitated  for  an  instant,  and  went  on : 
"I  may  not  be  exactly  what  you  think  you  want,  but 
I'm  a  whole  lot  above  the  average — and  it  doesn't 
do  for  a  girl  to  be  too  particular  these  days — when 
men  are  getting  mighty  scarce." 

"Good-bye,"  she  repeated  in  a  monotone  of  final- 
ity. 

"Oh,  no !  We  won't  say  'good-bye'  yet.  Think  it 
over.  I  won't  call  it  off.  I'll  give  you  what  your 
father  would  call — an  option  on  me — for  one — kiss." 
He  advanced  a  step  toward  her. 

She  gave  him  a  look  that  stopped  him.  "No,  thank 
you,  just  the  same,"  and  turned  away  from  him  to  the 
great  fireplace. 

He  followed  her,  saying:  "Well,  then,  never  mind 
the  option!" 


THE  RING  DID  NOT  FIT  9;$ 

"Good-bye!"  She  spoke  over  her  shoulder,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  then  that  he  must  go. 

Irrepressibly  he  rejoined:  "Oh,  well,  you've  got 
my  address.  If  I  don't  hear  from  you  within  a  week 
or  so,  I'll  drop  around.  Au  revoirf" 

As  Walter  went  out  one  door,  Blodgett  passed  an- 
other. Marjorie  called  to  him,  and  as  he  paused  at 
respectful  attention,  she  said:  "If  Mr.  Nicolls  should 
ever  call  again,  please  say  that  I  am  not  at  home  I" 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG. 

URELY,  that  command  does  not  refer  to 
me!"  Albert  Sewall  grinned  this  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  butler.  If  he  had  been 
wearing  his  glasses,  instead  of  dangling  them  on  the 
end  of  his  fingers,  he  would  have  seen  that  it  was  no 
grinning  mood  in  which  he  had  found  Marjorie. 
But  at  the  sight  of  his  cheery  face  and  the  sound  of 
his  wholesome,  friendly  voice,  the  tears,  which  were 
lurking  in  the  »orners  of  Marjorie's  eyes,  ready  to 
launch  themselves  down  her  cheeks,  withdrew,  and 
the  youthful  look  of  tragedy  above  them  slowly 
faded.  She  was  not  one  to  wear  her  heart  upon  her 
sleeve  for  even  the  friendliest  of  daws  to  peck  at. 

"No,  no — of  course  not,"  she  hastened  to  say.  "It 
was  just  someone — who  isn't  worth  while  seeing 
again." 

"I  knew  that  couldn't  mean  me,"  he  laughed,  with 
a  bow,  his  hand  over  his  heart  in  cavalier  fashion. 
"I've  come  to  get  acquainted." 

94 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG  95 

"That's  very  sweet  of  you!" 

"Well,  I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind  philandering 
a  bit  with  Old  Papa  Sewall.  That's  what  all  my  chil- 
dren— and  I  have  thousands  of  them — pupils  and 
prima  donnas — just  children  like  you — call  me.  They 
are  scattered  all  over  the  world.  I  hope  you'll  adopt 
me.  You  see,  I've  simply  got  to  be  adopted.  That's 
the  way  it's  done.  That  once  settled,  I'm  very  much 
at  home  and  happy." 

"I  shall  be  very  proud  if  you'll  let  me  adopt  you," 
smiled  Marjorie.  "I'll  begin  now — if  you're  sure  it 
won't  interfere  with  your  billiards — I  heard  the  clink 
of  the  balls,  didn't  I,  as  I  came  down  the  stairs?" 

"You  did,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  sitting  on  the  big 
davenport  beside  her.  "But  don't  let  that  worry 
you.  I  was  not  playing.  Your  father  and  I  were 
thinking  of  having  a  go  at  chess,  but  he  was  not  in 
the — er — mood.  He  is  sitting  on  a  high  chair  criti- 
cising the  play  of  Romney  and  the  Doctor.  I  was 
glad  to  escape." 

"To  be  adopted — by  little  me  !  You — the  great 
Sewall!"  He  laughingly  protested.  "Oh,  you  are 
great,"  she  insisted.  "I  know  lots  of  your  music,  but 
best  of  all  I  love  'The  Order  of  the  Rose.'  I  heard 
the  opera  in  Paris.  It  was  very,  very  beautiful !" 

Albert  Sewall  burst  into  a  leonine  roar  of  laughter. 


96  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Don't — don't,  my  dear,  talk  like  a  young  ladies' 
seminary.  No,  no !  You  have  more  character — 
more  flair.  Permit  me,  won't  you?" 

He  placed  the  tips  of  his  long  fingers  delicately 
upon  her  forehead,  and  nodded  in  mock  seriousness. 

"I  thought  so.  You  have  the  bump  of  music.  We 
shall  be  friends !" 

The  girl  smiled  up  at  him. 

"Good!"  he  beamed  back  at  her.  "Now,  look  me 
straight  in  the  eye.  What  is  the  best  part  of  the 
opera  that  you  say  is  so — ah — beautiful?  Do  you 
remember?" 

"Yes.  The  overture  to  the  second  act."  She  dart- 
ed to  the  piano  and  played  the  opening  bars  of  the 
most  musicianly  piece  that  Sewall  had  turned  out  in 
his  long  career. 

"Marvelous!  You  are  marvelous!"  he  cried. 
"Those  fool  critics!  They  had  to  admit  that  Old 
Papa  Sewall  could  write  serious  music.  But  they  did 
not  know  what  was  best.  Only  you,  and  Waldsemul- 
ler,  of  Munich,  knew." 

"But  I  like  all  of  it,"  s,he  protested.  "Oh,  that 
lovely  song  to  the  sunset  in  the  second  act,  and  the 
dance  in  the  third.  They  carried  me  off  my  feet." 

"Naturally,"  he  returned.  "I  had  a  book — a  libret- 
-that  inspired  me.  Now  I  am  trying  to  find  an- 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG  97 

other  one  as  good !  Oh,  for  a  book !  A  book !  That's 
what  I  want — a  book!  I  can  write  symphonies  out 
of  my  head — waltzes  out  of  my  fingers.  But  an  opera  ? 
I  must  have  a  libretto !  But  where  am  I  to  get  a  book 
that  is  worth  a  note  these  days?" 

"I  wish  I  could  get  you  a  book,"  exclaimed  Mar- 
jorie,  sympathetically. 

"I  would  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  for  a  good 
one,"  he  declared,  solemnly. 

"Is  that  very  much?"  was  her  innocent  query. 

"Much?  Why,  yes!  It  is  a  fabulous  price  to  pay 
in  advance  on  royalties.  But — we  are  so  desperate — 
that  is  what  we  have  done.  My  managers,  they  have 
offered  a  prize  of  ten  thousand  dollars  for  a  libretto. 
I  tell  them  that  will  bring  the  genius  out  of  his  gar- 
ret." 

"His  garret?"  repeated  the  girl,  thoughtfully. 
"That's  where  geniuses  come  from,  isn't  it?" 

"Surely,"  gibed  the  composer.  "That's  where  they 
grow — in  garrets — where  it  is  cold." 

"But  there's  always  a  little  flame  inside  of  them" 
— her  voice  grew  dreamy — "that  keeps  them  warm. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  some  genius  will  send  you  an  opera 
book  for  a  Christmas  present." 

"Pray  for  me,  little  lady,"  he  besought  her.  "By 
the  way,"  he  went  on,  briskly,  as  he  took  a  small  roll 


98  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

of  manuscript  from  the  tail-pocket  of  his  evening 
coat  and  handed  it  to  her,  "I've  got  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent for  you.  It  is  a  wee  bit  of  a  song.  Written  by 
my  dear  old  self — and  just  for  you." 

"What    a    delightful    Christmas    present!"    she 
purred,  as  she  glanced  over  the  manuscript.     "And  , 
just  for  me!" 

"Read  the  verse!  Read  the  verse!"  he  insisted 
cheerily. 

She  spread  out  the  manuscript,  moved  a  little  near- 
er to  the  tall  shaded  lamp  at  the  side  of  the  piano, 
and,  in  clear,  tender  tones,  read : 

"The  world  is  blind;  it  only  sings 
The  praises  of  poets,  masters  and  kings ! 
Their  words,  their  works,  their  deeds  of  flame, 
Win  all  the  fame,  win  all  the  fame. 

"So  let  my  voice  ring  out  for  one 
Who  has  no  fame  for  great  deeds  done. 
He  spins  no  song,  he  rears  no  dome. 
Out  of  his  heart  he  builds  a  home  1 

"He  rules  no  realm !    He's  more  than  king! 
A  woman's  joy  his  harvesting! 
He  spins  no  song,  he  rears  no  dome. 
Out  of  his  heart  he  builds  a  home !" 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG  99 

As  she  finished,  she  looked  up  at  Sewall  with  a 
bright  smile. 

"I  love  that,"  she  breathed. 

"I  knew  you  would.     Prodigious  little  idea,  eh?" 

"You — you  are  wonderful — Papa  Sewall!" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  write  the  verse,"  he  returned,  quickly. 
"Blessed  if  I  know  who  did.  Read  it  in  a  newspaper, 
and  tore  it  out.  Just  like  me — left  the  author's  name 
behind  me." 

"I  should  like  to  know  the  man  who  wrote  those 
lines,"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself. 

"Come  now,  Marjorie!"  broke  in  Sewall.  "I'll 
play — you  sing  it!" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  sing  it — at  sight," 
she  objected. 

But  Sewall  was  already  seated  at  the  piano,  running 
over  the  prelude. 

"You'll  sing  this,  young  lady.  It's  as  easy  as — 
kissing.  There's  the  introduction.  Now  the  song 
begins.  I'll  play  the  melody  through  for  you  first." 

She  was  standing  by  his  side  now,  and  as  she  lis- 
tened to  the  music  which  flowed  so  easily  from  his 
trained  fingers,  she  exclaimed  involuntarily: 

"I  love  that,  too." 

"Good!  Now!  Come!  Fill  your  little  lungs, 
open  your  little  mouth,  and  sing  your  little  head  off. 


ioo  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

.  .  .  No.  I  said  fill  your  lungs — not  stuff  them. 
You  know  how  to  breathe,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course,"  she  laughed.  "But  I  don't  know 
whether  I  can  sing  for  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"You,  the  great  Albert  Sewall !    I— I'm  afraid." 

"Nonsense !  The  accompanist  never  listens.  Now ! 
Begin!" 

He  struck  the  opening  chords,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  Marjorie  but  to  sing.  Under  the  spell 
of  the  music,  and  because  she  delighted  in  that  as 
well  as  in  the  words,  she  forgot  her  nervousness. 
Her  fresh  young  voice  suited  the  tender  music,  and 
Albert  Sewall — in  spite  of  his  assertion  that  accom- 
panists do  not  listen — was  delighted. 

"Bravo!"  he  shouted,  as  the  song  came  to  an  end. 
"Splendid,  little  girl!  You've  paid  for  it!" 

He  handed  the  manuscript  to  her  with  a  low  bow, 
patting  her  hand  paternally  as  she  took  it  from 
him. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "I  like 
it  better  than  any  Christmas  present  I  can  imagine. 
It  will  help  to  keep  me  from  being  lonely." 

It  was  with  another  cheering  but  sympathetic  laugh 
that  Sewall  heard  this  confession.  "Lonely?  You 
lonely  in  your  father's  house  with  all  of  us — his 


THE  SPELL  OF  THE  SONG  101 

friends,  and  each  and  all  of  us  ready-made  friends, 
parents  or  playmates,  as  you  will,  to  keep  you  com- 
pany, to  sign  ourselves,  at  any  hour,  'devotedly 
yours !'  '  He  made  a  bow.  "Now  I  dare  you  to  be 
lonely!"  He  finished  with  a  flourish. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  smiling  wistfully,  then 
laughed  a  little — a  low,  silvery  note. 

"Hah,  hah!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  knew  you  had  a 
pretty  laugh  concealed  about  you  somewhere.  But 
what  is  it — the  joke?  You  think  we  are  too  old  for 
you — eh  ?  Come !  Out  with  it !" 

"Well,"  she  demurred,  "with  so  many  elderly 
friends — though,  of  course,  I  know  I'm  going  to 
adore  you  all — still,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  a  little 
like  the  matron  of  an  old  man's  home." 

The  composer  scrutinized  the  girl  gravely  for  a 
moment,  but  there  was  a  flash  of  humor  in  his  eyes 
as  he  echoed,  "Old  man's  home — eh?" 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind,"  she  exclaimed,  a  trifle 
worried;  "but  remember  you  insisted — you  said,  'out 
with  it!'" 

Sewall  shook  his  head  heartily.  "You've  put  us 
where  we  belong,  but  we'll  show  you,  my  young  lady, 
that  there's  enough  life  left  in  the  old  boys  to  keep 
you  from  being  lonely." 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he  caught  sight  of 


102  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Blodgett,  standing  in  impatient  but  respectful  silence 
at  the  door. 

"Blodgett,"  he  commented,  "has  a  way  of  slipping 
in  and  out  like  a  well-trained  ghost,  without  making 
as  much  noise  as  a  breath  of  air." 

"What  is  it,  Blodgett?"  asked  Marjorie. 

"Your  father,  miss,  sent  me  to  tell  Mr.  Sewall  that 
his  cocktail  is  getting  warm." 

"Ah,  what  a  calamity,"  exclaimed  the  composer, 
starting  up  from  the  piano.  "You'll  excuse  me,  Mar- 
jorie, or  those  young  dogs  will  be  drinking  them- 
selves to  death." 

In  a  flash  he  was  gone;  and  Marjorie  was  lonely. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   LIGHT   FROM   A   DORMER   WINDOW. 

HALF  an  hour  ago  Marjorie  had  wished  to  be 
alone  that  she  might  read  Walter  Nicolls's 
letter.    Alone,  now,  she  drew  it  forth  from 
its  hiding  place  with  feelings  so  altered  that  she  was 
scarcely  the  same  girl  who  had  tucked  that  letter  away 
before  and  pressed  it  with  an  ardent  hand. 

Now  she  read  it  slowly,  every  word,  down  to  the 
last  avowal,  and  it  did  not  seem  to  her  that  the  man 
who  had  penned  this,  her  first  love-letter,  could  be  the 
same  Walter  who  had  come  a  few  minutes  ago — to 
take  her,  but  only  on  the  wings  of  her  father's  for- 
tune. 

It  was  a  simple,  very  youthful,  lowly  little  romance 
which  she  had  begun  to  build  for  herself.  Its  archi- 
tecture was  poor,  but  the  decorations  were  hers,  and 
it  had  seemed — for  a  brief  moment  or  two — exceed- 
ingly real  to  her.  The  letter  spoke  so  genuinely  to 
her,  contradicting  the  fall  of  her  humble  castle,  that 

103 


io4  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

it  made  more  poigant  the  little  tragedy.  She  realized 
that  she  had  been  mistaken,  that  the  man  had  failed, 
but  these  thoughts  did  not  console  her — they  made 
her  feel  more  wretchedly  alone  than  ever.  A  desire 
to  love  and  to  be  loved  had  been  created  within  her. 
The  vanishing  of  that  dear  prospect  left  her  heart 
unsatisfied. 

Slowly  she  turned  with  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and 
looked  not  at  it,  but  the  manuscript  song  on  the  piano. 
"Out  of  his  heart  he  builds  a  home,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

Walter  knew  nothing  of  building  such  a  home.  It 
was  the  kind  of  home  she  would  like.  Was  it  just  a 
song?  Or  was  it  the  ideal  of  a  man  who  knew? 
Yes,  the  man  who  wrote  that  song  knew !  She  felt 
as  though  he  had  spoken  to  her. 

Slowly  again  she  turned.  This  time  she  went  to- 
ward the  fireplace,  and  with  one  last  look  and  a  sigh 
she  dropped  her  letter  into  the  flames.  As  she 
watched  it  writhe  and  curl  into  ashes,  the  tears  started 
from  her  eyes,  but  she  did  not  heed  them.  It  was 
to  her  a  very  sad  little  ceremony,  the  cremation  of 
her  initial  love  affair. 

Presently  she  became  conscious  that  someone  was 
near  her.  She  looked  up,  startled,  and  found  Rom- 
ney  standing  close  beside  her. 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW     105 

"W-where  did  you  come  from?"  she  stammered, 
and  daubed  at  her  eyes  with  a  handkerchief. 

He  looked  down  at  her,  quietly,  whimsically,  as  he 
said,  pointing  into  the  fireplace,  "I  was  sum- 
moned to  you  by  the  spirit  of  that  cremated  love- 
letter!" 

Surprised  and  still  crying  silently,  Marjorie  asked : 
"L-love-letter?" 

"It's  only  love-letters  that  one  burns  and  cries 
over." 

"I'm  not — crying,"  she  protested  with  an  infini- 
tesimal sob,  leaving  him  at  the  hearth  and  dropping 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  davenport. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  1"  He  was  most  contrite, 
as  he  followed  her. 

"At  least — not  about  him  !" 

"Him?"  Romney  let  himself  down  cautiously  be- 
side her. 

"Walter,"  she  explained,  with  a  convulsive  excla- 
mation. "He  was  awfully  nice — and — and  entertain- 
ing— but — "  She  felt  that  was  enough.  Beside  she 
must  stop  crying.  The  tiny  handkerchief  was  quite 
wet  by  this  time. 

"I  suppose  he  didn't  measure  up  to  standard,"  sug- 
gested Romney. 

Marjorie  nodded,  as  she  explained,  still  tearfully: 


io6  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"So— you — see — I  wasn't — crying  for  him.  It — it 
was  my  first  1-love-letter  1" 

"But  it  won't  be  your  last,"  he  encouraged. 

"Oh,  yes  it  will."  She  was  quite  positive.  "My — 
my  heart  is — is  frost-bitten!" 

Romney  refused  to  credit  this  statement.  "If  that 
were  so,  you  would  be  crying  little  icicles;  but  I'm 
sure  they  are  warm  little  tears."  He  observed  the  in- 
adequacy of  the  bit  of  cambric  which  the  girl  was  em- 
ploying so  industriously.  "Have  a  larger  handker- 
chief !"  He  whipped  one  from  his  pocket  and  offered 
it  to  her  as  though  he  were  merely  passing  her  a  cup 
of  tea. 

"Thank  you!"  Marjorie  found  it  entirely  satis- 
factory. In  a  moment  the  tears  were  dried  and  their 
source,  pretty  thoroughly  drained  by  this  time,  appar- 
ently resolved  to  hold  in  reserve  what  little  remained. 
The  girl  put  out  a  hand,  which  Romney  promptly 
took  in  his  and  began  to  stroke  soothingly.  "I  can 
talk  to  you,"  she  began  anew.  "I  don't  think  that  I 
was  ever  quite  sure  about  Walter.  Now  I  know  that 
I  didn't  love  him." 

"You  only  wanted  something  to  love,"  he  volun- 
teered. "I'll  get  you  a  white  rabbit  with  pink  eyes. 
I  understand  they  are  quite  affectionate." 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  as  she  smiled,  not  with- 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW      107 

out  some  vague  sense  at  least  of  the  humor  of  her 
rather  pathetic  remark:  "I  want  some  one — not  some 
thing!" 

But  the  lawyer  felt  he  was  on  the  right  track.  The 
smile  indicated  as  much.  "But  a  tame  rabbit,  or  even 
a  well-behaved  bull-pup  is  much  less  trouble  than  a 
man." 

"I  am  going  to  order  my  own  menagerie,"  she  said, 
returning  his  handkerchief;  "but  that's  not  what  I 
want  now." 

"Whatever  you  want,"  he  committed  himself  with- 
out reserve,  "I'll  get  it  for  you.  Have  you  any  def- 
inite ideas  on  the  subject."  A  lawyer  is  a  practical 
sort  of  person.  He  never  feels  safe  until  he  has  a 
bit  of  a  fact  to  work  upon. 

"I  hadn't,  until  to-night!"  This  sudden,  direct  an- 
swer startled  Romney.  He  was  up  on  his  feet  now 
and  watching  Marjorie  with  mystification  in  his  eyes, 
as  she  darted  across  the  room  and  caught  up  the  man- 
uscript of  the  song  from  the  piano.  "Mr.  Sewall 
brought  me  a  song,"  she  explained,  as  she  wheeled 
about  to  him.  Walter  and  his  shallowness,  even  his 
love-letter,  with  its  strange  ring  of  truth,  were  for- 
gotten. She  had  a  new  interest,  and  behind  it  there 
was  unconsciously  an  intention.  She  put  the  song  in 
Romney's  hands,  with  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction. 


io8  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  thought  I  heard  you  singing,"  he  remarked  as 
he  adjusted  his  glasses. 

"Oh,  it's  such  a  dear  song,"  she  enthused.  "He 
wrote  the  music  himself — for  me — for  Christmas. 
But  the  words — the  verse — he  doesn't  know  who 
wrote  them.  They're  about  the  most  wonderful  kind 
of  man.  Only  I'm  afraid  he  doesn't  exist!"  She  fin- 
ished with  a  sigh. 

"Huh!"  ejaculated  the  lawyer,  as,  with  a  patron- 
izing but  sympathetic  smile,  he  glanced  over  the  man- 
uscript. Suddenly  he  pursed  his  brow,  and  gave  a 
subdued  exclamation  of  amazement. 

"Isn't  it  too  adorable?"  Marjorie  beamed  up  at 
him. 

"I've  always  liked  it,"  he  declared  laconically, 
while  the  girl  gazed  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
puzzlement.  "I  know  the  chap  who  wrote  it!" 

"You  know  the  chap  who  wrote  it?"  Marjorie 
was  quite  excited  as  well  as  surprised.  "Oh — if  he 
should  be  a — a  friend  of  yours !" 

"He — he  was!"  Romney  made  this  remark  in  a 
preoccupied  fashion,  which  he  finally  only  explained 
by  saying:  "Gad!  It's  the  strangest  thing — his  song 
falling  into  your  hands !"  He  looked  from  the  man- 
uscript to  the  girl  and  from  the  girl  toward  the  win- 
dow, which  faced  a  bit  of  lawn — just  a  patch  which 


'Well,  in  Thai  Shabby  Old  Place-Where  You  See  the  Light,  Lives  Quintard. 
He  Lives  Up  There,  Lil(e  Cinderella  in  the  Attic" 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW      109 

separated  the  house  from  the  iron  railings  along  the 
street  front. 

"Come  here!"  he  commanded  gently,  taking  Mar- 
jorie  by  the  elbow  and  leading  her  over  to  the  win- 
dow seat.  "Jump  up !"  He  helped  to  steady  her  on 
the  cushions,  parted  the  curtains,  and  pointed  to  the 
shabby  dwelling  that  neighbored  them.  "You  see 
that  di-eadful  old  house  next  door?" 

Marjorie  remembered.  Romney  had  written,  in 
the  course  of  their  long  correspondence,  a  long  letter 
to  the  girl  telling  her  about  that  house.  "That's  where 
they  keep  boarders,  or  lodgers,  or  something,  just  to 
annoy  papa  because  he  wouldn't  pay  a  ridiculous  price 
for  it — isn't  it?"  she  asked. 

"Yes!  In  that  miserable  rookery — there's  where 
Quintard  lives !" 

"Quintard?"     She  knew  no  one  by  that  name. 

"Anthony  Quintard,"  he  expanded.  "The  lad  who 
wrote  your  song.  He  lives  up  there,  like  Cinderella, 
in  the  attic."  He  pointed  upward,  where  there  was 
a  faint  glow  to  be  seen  over  the  edge  of  the  roof,  a 
roof  that  jambed  itself  up  against  the  side  of  the 
Caner  mansion  just  under  their  fifth  story  windows. 
"You  can  see  the  light  from  his  dormer!  It's  cold 
and  forlorn  and  lonely  up  there !  I've  been  in  that 
garret !" 


•no  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Marjorie  flattened  her  cheek  against  the  casement, 
and  stood  there  looking  up  at  that  glow  far  above 
her  for  a  moment  or  so  in  silence.  "A  Cinderella- 
man!"  she  finally  christened  the  lone  dweller  in  that 
attic,  as  she  visualized  to  herself  the  wretchedness  of 
its  occupant. 

Romney  left  her  standing  there,  went  to  the  piano 
and  set  up  the  song.  He  was  playing  it  softly,  when 
Marjorie  suddenly  jumped  down  from  the  window- 
seat  and  interrupted  him.  "Why  does  he  live  up 
there?  Is  he  so  dreadfully  poor?" 

"So  poor  that  I  don't  think  he  gets  enough  to  eat," 
answered  the  lawyer,  rising  from  the  piano. 

"Oh,  Romney,  why  don't  you  do  something  for 
him?"  she  demanded. 

"He  won't  let  me,"  returned  her  old  friend  warm- 
ly. "Young  idiot  won't  take  a  penny.  You  never 
knew  anyone  so  proud  as  Tony.  Once — I  offered  him 
a  little  loan;  he  bristled  up  like  a  porcupine.  I've 
had  an  awful  row  with  him — just  because  I  paid  his 
landlady  a  month's  rent  without  his  knowing  it.  It 
was  only  a  few  dollars,  but  when  he  heard  of  it — 
he  sent  the  money  back  to  me,  like  a  shot — with 
thanks.  Rather  tart  thanks,  too.  That  was  some 
weeks  ago.  I  haven't  dared  to  visit  him  since." 

"But  hasn't  he  any  family?" 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW      1 1 1 

"Not  even  a  cat — though  I  dare  say  there  are  mice 
in  that  attic.  He  did  have  a  rich  old  uncle — stingy, 
miserable  old  cuss.  Wanted  Tony  to  manufacture 
talcum  powder!" 

"Talcum  powder?"  echoed  Marjorie  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  horror,  in  which  there  was  much  sym- 
pathy for  the  Tony  she  didn't  know,  but  for  whom 
in  her  heart  she  had  already  found  a  warm  habitation. 

"Yes  !  That  was  Uncle  Peter's  idea ;  but  Tony  re- 
fused— I  may  say,  scorned  his  offer.  Tony  wanted 
to  write  things !" 

"Of  course  he  did!"  exclaimed  the  girl  promptly, 
with  the  memory  of  the  lad's  verses  still  running 
through  her  head. 

"As  I  was  about  to  tell  you,"  Romney  went^  on, 
"Uncle  Peter,  general  chump  and  scoundrel — I  hope 
that's  strong  enough — cut  Tony  out  of  his  will,  and 
died — yes,  died." 

"The  beast!"    Marjorie  was  indignant. 

"I  agree  with  you.  Uncle  Peter  was  a  throw-back 
— the  only  Quintard  I  didn't  like.  Gentle  folks — 
dear  people.  Tony's  one  of  the  best  of  them,  and 
he's  nothing  but  a  boy." 

Marjorie  looked  at  Romney  sternly.  "You  were 
horrid  to  quarrel  with  him!" 


H2  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  didn't  quarrel  with  him,"  protested  the  lawyer. 
"He  quarreled  with  me !" 

"It  was  your  fault.  You — you  weren't  tactful — 
and  you  must  be  very — oh,  ever  so  very  tactful  with 
anyone  so  poor  and  sensitive,  and — and  lonely."  She 
felt  by  this  time  that  she  knew  Tony  thoroughly.  Such 
is  the  power  of  imagination. 

"But  he  was  so  silly  about  it — such  a  simpleton  1" 

Marjorie  could  not  endure  having  even  Romney 
call  her  Cinderella-man  a  simpleton.  A  man  who 
could  write  such  a  song  as  now  kept  floating  through 
her  sub-consciousness  was,  at  the  very  least  reckoning, 
a  genius !  She  told  Romney  that  he  must  reform  his 
estimate  of  the  young  gentleman  in  the  attic. 

"You  don't  know  him !"  To  defend  his  position, 
to  prove  what  a  simpleton  Tony  was,  he  told  her  how 
the  youth  had  absolutely  disappeared  two  years  ago 
— hidden  himself  like  a  mole.  "For  months  and 
months,"  he  elucidated,  "I  didn't  know  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  Then,  last  spring,  I  saw  that  poem, 
signed  by  the  little  idiot,  in  a  magazine.  The  editor 
gave  me  his  address." 

"Why  didn't  you  make  the  editor  buy  a  whole  lot 
of  his  poems?"  There  was  an  accusation  in  the  ques- 
tion. It  was  clear  that  she  considered  Romney  crim- 
inally negligent,  as  he  himself  might  have  put  it. 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW      1 1,3 

Romney  had  had  some  acquaintance,  with  editors. 
He  knew  what  a  hard-headed  lot  they  were,  the  sort 
of  gods  that  one  hesitates  to  trifle  with.  "If  I  had 
suggested  it,  the  editor  would  probably  have  kicked 
me  out  of  his  office;  or,  if  he  were  busy  at  the  time, 
he  would  have  found  a  ready  assistant  to  propel  me 
expeditiously  out  of  his  sanctuary.  There  are  always 
lots  of  them  aching  for  just  that  sort  of  exercise." 

The  girl  had  ceased  listening.  She  wasn't  inter- 
ested in  editors  any  more.  But  Romney  didn't  know 
this. 

"He's  a  gentleman,  isn't  he?"  she  asked. 

"The  editor?"  The  lawyer  was  dubious.  He 
thought  he  might  be  outside  of  the  office.  They  often 
were,  he  remembered. 

"No!    The  Cinderella-man  1" 

Romney  became  serious.  "To  the  tips  of  his 
fingers!" 

"Then  I  shall  invite  him  to  dinner!"  That  was 
settled. 

"Charming  thought — but  he  won't  accept!" 

"Why  won't  he?"  Her  persistence  reminded  him 
of  Caner.  She  was  like  the  old  ruffian,  in  a  certain 
modified  fashion. 

"He  refused  an  invitation  from  me,  an  old  friend. 
Do  you  imagine  he'll  accept  one  from  a  stranger?" 


ii4  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Marjorie  had  forgotten  that  she  only  knew  Tony 
vicariously.  Now  she  realized  that,  of  course,  Rom- 
ney  was  right.  She  must  think  of  something  else. 
She  had  been  thinking  that  the  young  man  ought  to 
have  a  mouse-trap  up  there,  particularly  as  he  had  no 
cat.  She  hoped  he  wasn't  afraid  of  mice.  She 
thought  men,  real  men  at  any  rate,  were  not  even 
afraid  of  rats.  But  it  wasn't  just  nice  to  have  mice 
running  about  over  everything,  probably  chewing  up 
some  of  Tony's  most  precious  verses.  However,  that 
wasn't  really  important.  What  could  she  do?  She 
was  bound  to  do  something,  but  she  must  not  make 
the  sort  of  mistake  that  Romney  made,  and  it  was  all 
very  difficult  and  complicated,  as  she  really  didn't 
know  Tony. 

UI  should  like  to  do  something  for  him — well,  for 
Christmas,  you  know,"  said  Romney,  putting  into 
words  the  idea  which  had  already  begun  to  form 
itself  in  Marjorie's  own  mind. 

"Oh,  Romney,"  she  cried,  "I  want  to  do  something 
for  him,  too,  for  Christmas !"  She  had  a  feeling  of 
remorse;  it  swept  over  her  with  a  little  shudder  as 
she  thought  of  the  presents — all  sorts  of  things — 
which  her  father  would  probably  heap  upon  her, 
things  that  would  cost  a  lot  of  money  and  that  she 
wouldn't  care  for.  "And  all  the  time,"  she  said 


THE  LIGHT  FROM  A  WINDOW      115 

aloud,  "there's  that  poor,  lonely,  little  Cinderella- 
man " 

"He  isn't  little — he's  five  feet  ten  and  a  half,  if 
he's  an  inch,"  interposed  Romney. 

"Please  be  serious,"  she  commanded.  "I  can't 
even  smile  when  I  think  of  his  having  nothing,  while 
I — oh,  Romney,"  she  broke  out  with  a  trembling 
voice,  "I  can't  stand  it — I  can't  stand  itl  I  must  do 
something  for  him — I  must!" 

"I'd  be  very  glad  if  you  could  think  of  any  way  of 
helping." 

Marjorie  went  back  to  the  window  for  inspiration's 
sake.  And  presently  it  came  to  her.  The  thought 
delighted  her.  She  would  make  it  all  the  more  de- 
lightful by  wrapping  it  in  mystery.  Perhaps  that  was 
necessary.  Her  father  might  not  approve.  So  what 
was  the  use  of  letting  any  one  know.  When  it  was 
done,  and  she  were  found  out,  it  wouldn't  matter. 
The  good  she  meant  to  do  would  have  been  accom- 
plished, little  Jesuit  that  she  was. 

"Romney!  I  want  you  to  go  to  him  to-morrow — 
make  up  with  him."  This  was  virtually  an  order. 
She,  too,  was  used  to  being  obeyed.  "Find  out  what 
he  needs  most.  Don't  ask  him.  Look  around  and 
see  for  yourself.  Then  come  back  immediately  and 
tell  me." 


n6  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

He  looked  down  at  her  wonderingly.  "What's 
stirring  in  that  funny  little  head  of  yours  ?" 

Oh,  it  was  a  great  project,  a  real,  beautiful  ad- 
venture, but  she  couldn't  tell  even  him.  No !  All 
she  would  say  was:  "I've  thought  of  giving  him  a 
Christmas!  Oh,  Romney,  I'll  do  it — I  will  do  itl 
Promise  me  that  you'll  go — promise  me !" 

"Of  course  I  promise !" 

"That's  a  dear,  old  thing!"  Then  with  a  second, 
lively  thought,  she  asked:  "Did  you  ever  know  a  Cin- 
derella-man !" 

"Not  until  I  met  Tony,  and  I  never  would  have 
recognized  his  title  to  the  name  if  you  hadn't  so  sage- 
ly pointed  it  out  to  me." 

"I  never  met  one  either,"  she  laughed  happily,  and 
added  with  the  covetousness  of  a  discoverer :  "So  let 
us  keep  this  one  all  to  ourselves — at  least  for  Christ- 
mas. He'll  be  our  own,  own  Cinderella-man!" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HE  WROTE  THINGS  UNDER  THE  ROOF. 

IN  the  tall,  lean  young  man  who  sat  in  the  cold 
and  forlorn  attic,  whose  dormer  window  had 
been  the  object  of  so  much  interest  to  Marjorie 
Caner,  the  observer  would  have  found  little  change  in 
the  two  years  that  had  passed  since  he  first  climbed 
those  rickety  stairs  and  took  possession  of  that  nest 
under  the  roof.  He  was  somewhat  leaner,  somewhat 
shabbier,  but  no  less  hopeful,  although  it  needed  no 
efficiency  expert  to  tell  one  that  a  great  deal  of  en- 
ergy had  been  expended  over  that  kitchen  table  with- 
out producing  a  commensurate  ratio  of  profit.  The 
light  was  still  burning  steadily  in  those  grey-blue  eyes, 
the  lines  about  his  mouth  were  still  marked  with 
ready  smiles,  and  his  dark  hair  with  the  touch  of  red 
in  it  was  still  towseled  about  as  though  it  had  never 
known  a  brush  or  comb,  as  the  lad  leaned  over  his 
"copy,"  pushing  a  pencil  industriously,  his  good, 
square,  manly  jaw  set  firmly  against  disappointment 

117 


ii8  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

and  failure — two  familiar  devils,  who  forever  were 
tapping  for  admittance,  but  who  had  never  so  far 
managed  to  thrust  their  noses  into  his  workshop. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  Christmas, 
the  day  after  Marjorie  had  arrived  from  France. 
Tony,  engrossed  in  his  work,  appeared  to  be  obliv- 
ious to  the  comfortless  nature  of  his  surroundings. 
It  was  very  cold  in  the  attic.  The  mournful  blue  light 
of  a  mid-winter  afternoon  stole  through  the  window, 
but  not  clearly,  for  there  was  a  thick  frost  on  the 
panes  except  in  spots  where  the  sunbeams  had  burned 
a  few  peepholes. 

Through  these  points  of  advantage  could  be  seen 
the  heavy  mantle  of  snow  on  the  adjoining  room, 
while  in  perspective  were  the  rooms,  gables  and  chim- 
neys of  Morris  Caner's  and  other  residences,  togeth- 
er with  the  tapering  spire  of  a  church  above  its  square 
clock  tower. 

"Whoof !"  ejaculated  Tony,  putting  down  his  pen 
and  rubbing  his  numbed  fingers.  "This  is  the  coldest 
day  yet.  How's  the  register?" 

Walking  to  the  middle  of  the  room  where  a  dimin- 
utive heat-register  was  sunk  in  the  floor,  he  felt  over 
it  with  his  hands. 

"A  bluff!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  only  air  coming 
out  of  that  thing  was  canned  at  the  North  Pole." 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  1 19 

With  a  grunt  of  disgust  he  turned  briskly  to  a  calico 
curtain  hanging  from  a  shelf  in  a  corner,  and  pulling 
it  aside,  brought  down  from  a  nail  an  old  Persian 
dressing-gown,  which  he  slipped  on  over  his  coat. 
He  topped  this  off  with  a  gay-colored  but  faded  tur- 
ban. Then  he  looked  at  himself1  in  a  small  mirror 
over  the  washstand  and  grinned.  Even  the  bitter  cold 
could  not  quench  Tony  Quintard's  over-bubbling 
sense  of  humor. 

"Ah !  Here  I  am !  The  grand  vizier  of  Azirbi- 
jerah !  Ready  to  curse  all  my  enemies,  and  particu- 
larly that  infidel  dog,  the  Weather  Man.  May  a 
Kobold  catch  him  and  tickle  him  to  death!  This  is 
pretty  good — this  robe !  But  my  ribs  are  cold.  Ah ! 
Yes !  Of  course !  Paper !  That's  the  thing  I  There's 
a  lot  of  warmth  in  paper." 

He  took  a  newspaper  from  under  his  table,  folded 
it  to  a  convenient  size,  so  that  there  were  several 
thicknesses,  opened  his  waistcoat  and  placed  the  pa- 
per across  his  chest.  Then  he  buttoned  it  up  and 
grinned  again. 

"What  do  I  care  for  old  Winter?  He  has  no  ter- 
rors for  me  so  long  as  I  can  get  a  paper  for  a  penny ! 
This  is  one  of  those  hot,  sensational  sheets,  too.  I 
can  feel  it  radiating  warmth  all  through  me." 

He  drew  the  robe  around  him  and  went  back  to 


120  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

his  chair,  squaring  his  elbows,  preparatory  to  resum- 
ing his  work.  Then  he  reached  for  his  brier  pipe  and 
filled  it  with  tobacco,  all  the  while  studying  the  last 
page  of  a  manuscript  he  had  turned  out.  He  took 
up  a  match,  not  noticing  that  it  had  already  been 
burned  out,  and  tried  to  strike  a  light  for  his  pipe. 

"What  the — oh!  I  see!  Half  the  time  I  don't 
know  what'  I'm  doing,  I'm  so  bothered  over  this 
darned  masterpiece.  Well,  when  it  is  done,  and  I 
get  the  money  for  it,  I'll  take  a  rest  and  enjoy  my 
pipe  like  a  Christian." 

The  pipe  was  set  going,  and  as  Tony  Quintard 
took  two  or  three  luxurious  pulls  at  it,  he  dipped  his 
pen  in  the  ink  and  wrote  a  few  words.  Then  he 
crossed  them  out  and  uttered  a  half-audible  ejacula- 
tion of  annoyance. 

"That  won't  do.  It's  rot !  Let  me  see.  I'll  have 
to  change  that!" 

He  got  up  and  marched  to  the  window.  Having 
rubbed  off  some  of  the  frost,  he  gazed  out  without 
seeing  anything  more  than  the  ideas  cavorting 
through  his  head. 

"By  Jove !"  Apparently  an  attractive  idea  crossed 
his  vision.  He  hurried  back  to  the  table  and  settled 
down  to  write  at  lightning  speed,  afraid  he  might  lose 
the  thought  before  it  was  nailed  to  the  paper.  He 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  121 

was  absorbed  in  his  work,  his  head  low  over  the 
paper,  and  his  pipe,  neglected,  clenched  in  his  teeth, 
when  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  below. 

"Go  away !"  growled  Tony,  without  looking  up. 

The  entrance  to  his  attic  was  by  way  of  a  stairway 
that  came  through  a  trap  in  the  floor,  protected  by  a 
wooden  railing  on  three  sides.  The  knock  floated  up 
from  the  door  at  the  foot  of  these  stairs. 

When  Tony  grunted  "Go  away  I"  the  only  result 
was  a  repetition  of  the  knock,  a  little  louder  than 
before. 

"Go — a-w-a-y!"  Tony's  growl  deepened  with  ex- 
asperation. 

"It's  most  important,  sir." 

It  was  a  meek,  husky  voice  that  ascended  to  the 
scribbler.  It  sounded  as  if  its  owner  were  even  then 
climbing  the  worn  stairs. 

"Nothing  is  important  except  my  work,"  insisted 
Tony.  Then  added  with  humorous  exasperation: 
"Confound  you !  I  just  got  a  wireless  from  inspira- 
tion, and  you  break  in.  Now  you've  aroused  my  curi- 
osity. So  come  up — and  annoy  me." 

"I'm  coming,  sir."  Primrose,  as  down  at  the  heels 
but  as  cheerful  as  ever,  appeared  through  the  trap  in 
his  usual  apologetic  manner.  Within  two  stairs  of 
the  top  he  paused  to  cough  hoarsely. 


122  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Quintard,  for  bothering 
you.  But " 

"Don't  stand  down  there  like  a  bear  in  a  pit,"  en- 
couraged Tony. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  The  old  man 
came  to  the  top  and  leaned  wearily  over  the  rail,  for 
the  climb  had  rather  taken  the  wind  out  of  him.  "I 
wouldn't  have  thought  of  botherin'  you,  only " 

"Primrose,"  interrupted  Tony,  with  ironic  tolera- 
tion, "eliminate  the  preface  and  unwind  your 
tale." 

"Well,  sir,"  explained  the  man-who-had-seen-bet- 
ter-days,  "he's  waiting  below — a  gentleman." 

"You're  quite  sure  he's  a  gentleman?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.    He  has  on  a  fur  coat." 

Tony  put  his  pipe  on  the  table,  shivered  a  little, 
and  gazed  speculatively  at  his  servitor. 

"Attention,  Primrose!  Could  you — er — get  me 
the  coat  and  leave  the  gentleman  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,  sir!"  This  with  a  phantom  smile. 
"The  gentleman  is  wearin'  the  coat." 

"He  knew  where  he  was  coming,"  grunted  Tony. 
"Is  it  Cooke  or  Peary?" 

The  allusion  rolled  harmlessly  off  Jerry  Primrose's 
mentality.  He  surmised  that  it  was  a  joke  of  some 
kind,  but  he  didn't  recognize  it.  So  he  answered,  with 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  123 

a  noncommittal  widening  of  the  mouth:  "I  couldn't 
say,  sir." 

Primrose  had  been  a  valet  for  many  years,  and  the 
instinct  of  the  efficient  body-servant  was  in  him  al- 
ways. He  observed 'that  Tony  wore  slippers,  and 
that  his  shoes  were  scattered  about  the  room.  So  he 
picked  them  up  one  by  one  and  handed  them  to  Tony. 

"Infernal  nuisance!"  complained  the  youth  as  he 
took  off  the  slippers  and  gave  them  to  Primrose. 
"Got  to  put  my  shoes  on  just  to  be  bored  by  some- 
body." 

"And  he  is  somebody,  sir — he  came  in  a  motor  car, 
with  a  swell  chauffeur.  The  chauffeur  is  wearin'  a 
fur  coat,  too !" 

"Then  how  could  you  tell  which  was  the  gentle- 
man?" asked  Tony  solemnly. 

"The  gentleman  wears  the  fur  inside,  the  chauffeur 
outside,"  was  the  laconic  reply.  Then,  with  a  dismal 
shake  of  the  head,  the  old  man  added:  "You  used  to 
wear  yours  inside,  sir." 

It  was  evident  that  the  recollection  of  happier  for- 
tune, both  for  himself  and  Tony,  was  weighing  heav- 
ily on  the  spirits  of  Primrose.  He  choked  back  a  sob, 
braced  himself  with  a  quiver  of  bent  shoulders,  took 
a  shabby  overcoat  from  where  it  lay  on  a  trunk,  shook 
it  and  brushed  it  down  with  his  hand  solicitously. 


i24  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"It  is  a  well-known  economic  fact,  Primrose,"  re- 
marked Tony,  as  he  laced  up  his  second  shoe,  "that 
you  can't  wear  your  fur  coat  and  eat  it,  too.  What's 
your  opinion  about  our  fur-lined  visitor?" 

Primrose  was  silent  until  he  had  hung  the  shabby 
overcoat  in  a  corner,  and,  picking  up  a  hat  from  the 
floor  where  it  had  been  carelessly  flung,  placed  it  on 
a  shelf.  After  some  consideration,  he  answered: 

"I  think  it  would  be  safe  to  let  him  up,  sir." 

"Then  bring  him  up." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  called  Tony,  as  the  old  man  took 
a  step  down  the  stairs.  "I  could  do  with  a  whiff  of 
heat  up  here.  Suppose  you  go  down  to  the  uttermost 
depths  of  this  habitation  and  sneak  a  spoonful  of  an- 
thracite into  the  furnace.  But  don't  let  the  Great 
She-Bear  catch  you.  She  might  raise  my  rent." 

"So  she  might,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir,"  returned 
Primrose  as  he  disappeared. 

"I'll  have  to  dress  for  company,  I  suppose,"  mum- 
bled Tony.  He  took  off  the  Persian  robe  and  hid  it 
behind  the  curtain.  The  turban  he  laid  on  the  shelf. 
"It's  a  bore — especially  when  I  am  so  busy." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  Tony  took 
up  some  sheets  of  his  manuscript  and  studied  them 
thoughtfully.  He  was  completely  engrossed  when 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  125 

footsteps  on  the  stairs  attracted  his  attention.  He 
went  to  the  trap,  and  seeing  who  it  was,  held  out  his 
hand  cordially. 

"Hello,  Romneyl" 

"Hello,  Tony!" 

As  they  shook  hands  warmly,  the  young  man  said : 
"My  apologies  for  keeping  you  waiting!  I  didn't 
know  it  was  you." 

"My  fault,"  returned  Romney  Evans.  "I  should 
have  sent  up  my  name.  Only,  I  was  afraid  you 
wouldn't  see  me." 

"Nonsense!  We  understand  each  other — now. 
Awfully  good  of  you  to  come  again.  Give  me  your 
hat  and  stick.  I'd  ask  you  to  take  off  your  coat,  but 
I'm  afraid  you  are  not  used  to  these  high  alti- 
tudes." 

"It  is  rather  like  out-of-doors  here,"  confessed  the 
lawyer. 

"Ah,  you  notice  that?  The  effect?"  breezed  Tony. 
"Good!  Some  people  like  to  sleep  out-of-doors.  I 
like  to  work  out-of-dors.  But  that  isn't  practical  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  so  I  managed  to  have  it  cool 
up  here.  Keeps  my  brain  active.  What  does  the  mer- 
cury say?"  he  added,  consulting  an  old  advertising 
thermometer  on  the  wall.  No,  it's  all  right.  I  was 
afraid  my  man  would  make  it  too  hot  for  me.  He 


126  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

has  a  passion  for  heat.  Have  the  chair.  It's  the  one 
I  have  been  sitting  in.  It  is  still  fairly  warm." 

Tony  bustled  about,  making  his  guest  as  comfort- 
able as  possible.  Romney  watched  him,  dashing  to 
and  fro  in  his  icy  room,  affecting  to  be  entirely  happy 
with  his  surroundings,  and  cheerful  as  ever  he  was 
when,  as  a  boy,  he  had  no  more  on  his  mind  than  a 
bit  of  doggerel. 

"A  Cinderella-man,  indeed,"  thought  Romney. 
"Have  a  cigarette,  Tony  ?" 

He  held  out  a  gold  case.  Tony  extracted  a  cigar- 
ette with  an  off-hand  "Thanks,"  adding:  "Haven't 
smoked  a  cigarette  in  days.  Have  to  smoke  a  pipe 
when  I'm  working." 

Their  cigarettes  were  going,  with  Tony  on  the  big 
trunk,  nursing  his  knee  and  puffing  with  genuine  en- 
joyment, while  Romney  occupied  the  chair,  when  the 
latter  remarked  casually: 

"By  the  way,  I  have  a  friend — a  neighbor  of  yours 
— who's  taken  a  sudden  interest  in  your  work — quite 
smitten  with  those  verses  of  yours,  'Out  of  His  Heart 
He  Builds  a  Home.'  " 

"Neighbor?  Who  is  it?  Perhaps  I  know  him  by 
sight." 

"It  isn't  a  he — it's  a  she." 

"Ah !    Enter  romance,  very  early  in  the  first  chap- 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  127 

tcr,"  observed  Tony,  between  puffs.  "Now,  don't 
spoil  it  by  giving  me  facts.  Let  me  improvise.  It's 
the  Veiled  Princess!" 

"Who's  the  Veiled  Princess?" 

"Who?  Why,  the  little  billionairess.  She  ar- 
rived next  door,  last  night,  in  the  gloaming." 

"So  you've  heard  about  her?" 

Tony  waved  his  cigarette  expansively  toward  the 
staircase  down  the  trap. 

"My  journal  brings  me  the  fashionable  news  ot 
the  street." 

"Your  journal?" 

"Primrose,  my  man.  You  noticed  him.  He's  my 
journal — my  court  gazette — morning  and  evening 
edition — and  occasionally  an  extra.  Most  reliable. 
Serves  me  in  the  dual  capacity  of  journal  and  valet, 
whether  I  will  have  it  or  not.  His  real  business  in 
life  is  butting  and  janitoring  for  the  Great  She- 
Bear." 

"The  Great  She-Bear?"  repeated  Romney. 

"Landlady.  I  can't  call  her  anything  but  what  I've 
just  said.  She's  a  terror — a  grizzly.  You  noticed 
her  the  last  time  you  were  here.  I'm  deathly  afraid 
of  her.  I  try  to  keep  my  door  locked.  She's  likely 
to  come  in  and  eat  me  some  night,  just  because  I've 
forgotten  to  pay  the  rent." 


128  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"But  you  were  talking  of  the  Veiled  Princess," 
Romney  reminded  him. 

"Oh,  yes!  My  journal  informs  me  that  she  ar- 
rived last  night  in  her  gasoline  chariot,  heavily  veiled. 
He  also  told  me  that  she  is  the  only  daughter  of  the 
king  of  commerce  next  door." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  meet  her?"  asked  Romney. 

"Got  her  in  your  pocket?"  returned  Tony,  care- 
lessly. 

"Not  to-day." 

"Too  bad !  Too  bad !  But,  after  all,  what  have  I 
to  do  with  veiled  princesses?" 

"Nothing.  That's  the  trouble.  You  write  about 
them — probably  in  the  most  familiar  sort  of  way. 
But  you  don't  know  them.  Think  how  much  better 
you  could  write  about  them  if  you  knew  one — just 
one." 

"You  are  mistaken,  my  dear  Romney,"  laughed 
Tony.  "I  can  imagine  them  much  better  than  they 
are.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  my  days  of  affluent  slav- 
ery, I  knew  a  princess.  I  had  to  entertain  her  for 
almost  an  hour.  It  makes  me  ache  to  think  of  it." 

"But,  you  forget.  The  Veiled  Princess  likes  your 
song." 

"You're  a  sly  old  dog,  Romney.  But  I'm  impervi- 
ous to  flattery." 


HE  WROTE  THINGS  129 

"But  when  a  charming  young  woman  expresses  a 
desire  to  meet  you " 

"The  only  safe  procedure  is  to  scurry  up  to  the 
turret  of  your  castle  and  bolt  the  door  after  you," 
finished  Tony. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  young  man  1  You  must  not  think 
she's  the  sort  that  would  run  after  you.  No,  indeed  1" 

"Thank  heaven  1  I  am  saved!"  ejaculated  Tony, 
with  mock  fervor. 

Romney  Evans  turned  on  him  in  disgust. 

"I  should  think,"  he  snorted,  "that  when  you  are 
told  there  is  a  young  person  next  door  who  appreci- 
ates and  is  interested  in  your  work,  you'd  be  only 
too  glad  to  have  a  chance  to  meet  her." 

But  this  did  not  disturb  Tony's  calm  attitude. 

"I'm  sure  it's  very  friendly  and  delightful  of  you 
and  the  Veiled  Princess  to  think  of  me.  I  am  flat- 
tered, and  I  hope  you  will  convey  my  sincere  thanks 
to  her.  But,  having  forgotten  my  party  manners,  as 
well  as  mislaid  my  party  clothes,  I  must  regretfully 
and  respectfully  decline  your  cordial  invitation.  With 
the  compliments  of  the  season,  I  remain,  your  obedi- 
ent servant,  Anthony  Quintard !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AN   EMMISSARY    FROM   A    PRINCESS. 

WHILE  Tony  expressed  himself  in  this  rath- 
er highfalutin  fashion,  trying  to  render  it 
apparent,  beyond  peradventure,  that  he  did 
not  care  to  make  the    acquaintance    of  the    Veiled 
Princess,  no  matter  how  charming  she  might  be,  Rom- 
ney  Evans  stalked  about  the  attic,  taking  a  mental 
inventory  of  its  shabby  details.     The  evidences  of 
poverty  that  met  his  eye  on  all  sides  caused  him  to 
boil  within  at  the  young  man's  obstinacy. 
"Tony,  you're  a  jackass !"  he  rasped. 
"The  very  words  of  my  late,  but  not  lamented, 
uncle,"  was  the  cheerful  response. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  freezing  to  death  in  this 
miserable  garret?" 

"But,   Romney,  I'm  not  freezing  to  death.     I'm 
doing  a  most  important  piece  of  work — or  I  was,  un- 
til you  so  politely  interrupted  me." 
"Huh !    I  doubt  its  importance." 
130 


EMMISSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS     131 

"Oh,  say  not  so — say  not  so!" 
Tony  made  this  protest  in  a  sort  of  chant.    It  irri- 
tated his  visitor  into  a  burst  of  expostulation. 

"You  should  be  living  comfortably — respectably 


"Respectably?"  cried  Tony,  in  pretended  astonish- 
ment. "What  do  you  call  this?  Why,  it's  the  most 
moral  lodgery  in  New  York.  The  Great  She-Bear  is 
a  Puritan  of  the  most  violent  type.  Only  last  week 
she  cast  out  a  perfectly  good  stenographer  from  the 
floor  below  just  because  her  alleged  brother  called  on 
a  Saturday  evening." 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  You  should,  and  could, 
be  living  among  people  of  your  own  kind,  if  you 
would  only  accept  a  certain  position  that  I  have  wait- 
ing for  you " 

"In  a  pickle  factory?"  jeered  the  poet.  "Thank 
you — but  no." 

"In  a  broker's  office,  at  a  good  salary !"  countered 
the  lawyer,  hotly. 

Tony  deliberately  stalked  over  to  the  register  and 
stooped  so  that  he  could  spread  his  two  hands  close 
over  the  grating.  He  looked  at  Romney  with  a  quiz- 
zical smile — which  faded,  however,  as  his  words  be- 
came more  earnest. 

"I  thank  you,  but  I  wouldn't  take  it  at  any  price. 


i32  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Why  bring  up  the  question,  anyway?  I  had  that  out 
with  you  once.  Don't  let  us  start  cussing  each  other 
again.  You  can't  convince  me  any  more  than  I  can 
make  you  understand  that  I  must  do  the  thing  that's 
in  me  to  do — without  compromise.  Otherwise,  I'm 
a  failure." 

"I  can't  see  that  you're  making  much  of  a  success, 
as  it  is,"  was  Romney's  rejoinder. 

"No,"  assented  Tony,  slowly.  "No!"  He  was 
hurt,  but  he  quickly  threw  off  his  feeling  of  depres- 
sion and  declared  with  decision:  "But  I  am  not  a 
failure  yet — and  I  won't  be!  It  would  take  more 
than  you're  saying  so  to  shake  my  faith  in  myself." 

For  a  few  moments  Romney  Evans  gazed  at  the 
young  man  with  affectionate  pity.  At  last  he  picked 
up  his  hat  and  stick  from  the  washstand,  where  Tony 
had  placed  them,  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder. 

"I'm  sorry,  Tony,"  he  said,  softly.  "I  didn't  come 
up  here  to  hurt  you.  I  thought  that  perhaps  I  could 
be  the  means  of  bringing  a  new  friend  into  your  life 
— the  Veiled  Princess.  She's  a  dear  thing.  I  even 
hoped  that  you  two  might — might  grow  to  care  for 
each  other." 

"What?"  Tony  wheeled  about,  amazed,  almost 
indignant. 


EMMISSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS    133 

"Yes!  Why  not?"  retorted  Romney,  warmly. 
"You  are  the  only  man  I  know  who's  good  enough 
for  her." 

The  youth  smiled  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  friend's 
shoulder.  "It's  very  decent  of  you  to  say  that,  Rom- 
ney. But  you  know  I  have  the  utmost  contempt  for 
men  who  marry  rich  girls.  It's  a  kind  of  prostitu- 
tion. That's  what  it  is.  Your  self-respect  for  a  meal 
ticket." 

Romney  held  out  his  hand  and  Tony  grasped  it 
heartily. 

"You  see  that — my  point  of  view — don't  you, 
Romney?" 

"That's  all  right!     I  understand!" 

"I  knew  you  would.  Well,  when  you're  around 
this  way  again,  drop  up."  He  laughed  whimsically, 
propelling  his  visitor  to  the  stairs.  "And,  oh — my 
compliments  and  thanks  to  the  Princess." 

"I'll  deliver  them  at  once,"  promised  Romney,  as 
he  went  down  into  the  pit,  only  pausing  at  the  bottom 
to  send  back  a  cheerful:  "So  long,  old  boy!" 

"Merry  Christmas,  old  top!"  called  Tony,  after 
him. 

"Same  to  you !" 

As  the  door  banged,  the  smile  with  which  he  had 
hurled  the  compliments  of  the  Yuletide  season  after 


i34  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

his  boyhood's  friend  faded  from  Tony's  face.  Hi 
sighed  involuntarily  and  huddled  down  on  the  old 
trunk,  his  chin  in  his  hand. 

"A  failure!    Am  la  failure?" 

Then  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  But  Tony  did 
not  heed.  Drumming  on  his  brain,  as  it  seemed, 
was  the  monotonously  recurring  query:  "Am  I  a 
failure?  Am  I  a  failure?"  He  could  hear  nothing 
else. 

Neither  did  he  see  Jerry  Primrose's  faded  counte- 
nance with  the  moist  eyes  which  seemed  ever  on  the 
verge  of  weeping,  cautiously  rising  above  the  level  of 
the  trap.  It  was  only  when  the  wheezy  voice  was 
raised  in  reproachful  sympathy  that  he  raised  his 
head  and  saw  that  his  faithful  attendant  was  gazing 
at  him  in  sorrowful  apprehension. 

"Bless  m'  soul,  sir!"  exclaimed  Primrose.  "You 
ain't  gone  and  got  the  willies  again,  have  you?"  He 
came  up  the  remaining  stairs,  and  continued,  with 
something  like  a  sob:  "It  is  the  willies.  I  was  afraid 
you  had  'em.  Oh,  Mr.  Quintard !  What  I  thinks—" 

"Shut  up,  you  old  cry-baby!"  interrupted  Tony, 
arousing  himself  and  smiling.  "I  never  felt  better 
in  my  life !  Here,"  he  went  on,  as  he  strode  over  to 
the  table  and  looked  at  his  pile  of  manuscript,  "are 
you  any  judge  of  libretto?" 


135 

"I  might  be,  if  I  knew  what  it  was,"  replied  Prim- 
rose, with  reserve. 

"It's  a  libretto.  That's  the  book  of  an  opera — the 
words." 

"You  don't  say,  sir!" 

"In  grand  opera  they  are  sung.  In  light  opera — 
occasionally." 

"I  saw  an  opery  once,"  murmured  Primrose,  rem- 
iniscently.  "The  devil  was  in  it." 

"And  there's  a  devil  in  mine — a  charming,  ro- 
mantic devil !  But  he's  housebroken  in  the  last  act." 

Primrose  was  awestruck.  "You,  sir,  are  writin'  of 
an  opery?" 

"Verily!  And  I  tell  you,  in  confidence,  that  I  have 
burst  many  a  button  in  the  effort  to  write  something 
original.  It  was  to  be  a  masterpiece — but  now  I 
wonder !  It  was  to  have  worked  the  miracle  for  me ! 
And  it  shall!"  He  picked  up  several  sheets  of  his 
manuscript  from  the  table  and  fanned  them  with  his 
fingers  under  the  old  servitor's  blue  nose.  "Prim- 
rose, do  you  see  that?  It's  going  to  bring  us  ten 
thousand  dollars!  Do  you  understand?  Ten  thou- 
sand dollars!" 

Primrose,  saddened  as  he  was  by  hard  times,  and 
with  nerves  roughened  to  a  burr  edge  by  constantly 
grinding  against  the  temperament  of  the  Great  She- 


136  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Bear  below  stairs,  had  not  lost  his  sense  of  humor. 
The  sense  was  primitive.  But,  such  as  it  was,  it  re- 
mained to  him,  and  he  grinned  slowly  as  Tony  spoke 
grandiloquently  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  That  was 
a  joke  that  Primrose  could  appreciate.  It  had  the 
odor  of  fabulous  wealth.  What  more  could  a  joke 
require  ? 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked,  the  grin  assuring  Tony 
that  his  sally  was  appreciated. 

"Huh  I"  grunted  the  author.  "I  see  the  flicker  of 
incredulousness  in  your  kindly  but  watery  eye,  and  I 
don't  blame  you.  Ten  thousand  dollars  I  It's  fabu- 
lous!" 

"Very  likely,  sir."     Primrose  was  noncommital. 

"I  assure  you  it  is!"  Tony  went  on.  "Come  hith- 
er, unbeliever!  See!  Every  page  of  this  manuscript 
of  mine  is  worth  not  less  than  fifty  dollars." 

"I'm  afraid  you've  something  worse  than  the  wil- 
lies now,  sir,"  returned  Primrose,  becoming  serious. 
"You  know,  fifty  dollars  is " 

"Still  unconvinced?"  said  Tony.  "Wait  a  moment.'* 

From  under  the  ink  bottle  he  drew  a  clipping  from 
a  newspaper,  which  he  opened  and  placed  in  the 
other's  hand. 

"If  you'll  read  that,  my  heretical  friend,  it  may 
enlighten  you." 


EMMISSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS    137 

To  Primrose  reading  was  more  than  a  mere  inci- 
dent. It  was  a  rite,  which  must  be  approached  with 
certain  ceremonies,  all  in  regular  order,  and  with  due 
regard  to  the  importance  of  the  proceeding. 

To  begin  with,  there  were  his  spectacles.  These 
precious  articles  were  kept  in  a  case  at  the  bottom  of 
a  cavern  inside  his  coat.  They  were  tamped  down 
with  a  large  red-yellow-and-blue  handkerchief,  which 
he  found  more  convenient  than  the  ordinary  small 
white  ones  in  more  common  usage. 

He  fished  out  the  handkerchief,  shook  it  free  and 
passed  it  across  his  brow.  Then  he  reached  for  the 
glasses.  They  had  a  way  of  sinking  to  an  almost 
inaccessible  corner  of  the  deep  pocket,  whence  they 
could  be  extracted  only  with  paralytic  contortions, 
accompanied  by  sundry  grunts  and  muttered  impre- 
cations. 

"Come  on  now!"  he  apostrophized  them  sternly. 
"I  know  you're  there,  and  I'm  goin'  to  have  you  out 
if  it  takes  a  leg.  Ah !  There  they  come !  I  knowed 
it !  They  couldn't  fool  me." 

Wiping  the  steel-rimmed  glasses  took  up  another 
two  or  three  minutes — during  which  Tony  read  a 
page  of  his  opera,  with  a  gratified  smile. 

"Now,  sir,  I'm  ready,"  announced  Primrose,  at 
last. 


138  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

He  held  the  clipping  close  to  his  face  and  labor- 
iously spelled  it  out.  As  he  perused  it,  his  humid 
eyes  widened  and  his  loose-hung  mouth  worked  con- 
vulsively. Clearly  he  was  astonished.  The  whole 
thing  was  beyond  his  ordinary  ken. 

"Well,  I'm  Mowed !"  he  blurted  out  at  last.  "And 
this  here  opery  of  yours  is  goin'  to  get  the  prize?" 

"Such  is  our  hope,"  was  Tony's  off-hand  reply,  as 
he  took  back  the  clipping. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!"  murmured  Primrose, 
awe-stricken.  "Would  you  let  me  look  at  it,  sir?" 

"The  opera?    Certainly  1" 

With  the  libretto  in  his  hands,  the  old  man  began 
to  read  aloud,  with  a  judicial  air,  by  chance  for  an 
opening  striking  some  stage  directions : 

"  'The  Caliph  looks  at  her  with  profound  admira- 
tion. She  lowers  her  head,  but  lets  her  eyes  fly  up  at 
him  through  the  top  of  her  lids.'  ' 

Jerry  stopped  reading,  and  stared  at  Tnoy 
as  if  he  thought  the  young  man  must  be  crazy. 
Tony  replied  to  his  look  by  saying  with  con- 
viction : 

"It  can  be  done.    Like  this." 

He  let  his  head  fall  to  one  side,  in  a  coquettish 
manner,  at  the  same  time  rolling  up  his  eyes  at  his 
staring  inquisitor. 


EMMISSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS     139 

"Um !  Do  you  think  a  young  woman  would  ever 
look  like  that?" 

"Of  course  she  would.  At  least,  this  young  woman 
would.  Go  ahead.  Read  some  more." 

"  'Caliph,  your  eyes    illuminate    the  path    to  my 
soul's  dark  chamber.'     'He  repeats  the  serenade.' ' 
It  was  Greek  to  him.    "So  that's  a  opery  book?    And 
it's  goin'  to  get  you  ten  thousand  dollars?" 

"Without  a  doubt,"  answered  Tony,  taking  the 
manuscript  from  him.  "The  only  difficulty  is  to  get 
the  job  done  in  time.  It's  just  eight  days  until  Jan- 
uary first.  I've  got  to  work  like  the  devil.  That 
means  the  consumption  of  much  kerosene !  We  must 
consider  the  oil  question." 

"We  can't  work  on  oil,  sir.  That  gentleman  friend 
of  yours — him  in  the  fur  coat — didn't  happen  to  lend 
you  a  fiver,  or  somethin',  did  he?" 

"He's  not  a  banker,  my  dear  Primrose.  Besides, 
what  do  we  want  with  money?  We  paid  the  rent  last 
week,  and  lived  in  wantonness  for  three  days  on  that 
sonnet!  If  I  can  turn  out  a  sonnet — and  sell  it — 
every  seven  days,  we  shall  live  in  affluence." 

"But  you  ain't  wrote  no  sonnet  since  that  one,  and 
you  haven't  paid  this  week's  rent !  As  for  the  thing 
you  call  the  'larder,'  there's  nothin'  in  it." 

"What  an  old  cheer-monger  you  are !    But  never 


i4o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

mind!  We  shall  pull  through!  Let's  see!  What 
have  we  left?  Ah!  The  trunk!  Primrose,  we've 
eaten  everything  in  it.  Why  not  eat  the  trunk  itself?" 

"It  wouldn't  pay  to  cart  it  away,  sir."  He  gave 
the  battered  bit  of  luggage  a  kick  of  contempt. 

"Perhaps  you're  right.  Well,  let's  have  a  look 
around.  There  must  be  something  negotiable  that 
we've  overlooked." 

"Here's  a  weskitt,  sir,"  suddenly  announced  Prim- 
rose. "It's  that  fancy  one  you  used  to  wear  when — " 

"Where  is  it?"  interrupted  Tony,  snatching  the 
article  which  the  old  man  had  discovered  in  a  drawer. 
"A  find!  A  find!"  he  cried  enthusiastically,  as  he 
waved  the  waistcoat  over  his  head.  Then  sobering 
down  a  little,  he  spread  it  out.  At  once  a  cry  of  dis- 
may came  from  Primrose. 

"There's  a  big  ink-spot  on  it,  sir." 

"What?  A  spot?  Ah,  yes,  I  remember.  Out, 
damned  spot!  I  did  it  with  a  fountain-pen  that  I 
carried  in  the  upper  pocket.  It  leaked,  as  most  foun- 
tain-pens do.  I've  never  carried  one  since." 

"You  haven't  got  the  pen,  have  you?"  asked 
Primrose,  eagerly.  "We  might  raise  some- 
thing  " 

"No.  Unfortunately,  in  a  moment  of  anger,  I 
threw  it  away.  But,  see  here,"  he  went  on,  as  he 


EMM1SSARY  FROM  A  PRINCESS    141 

hastily  put  on  the  waistcoat.  "With  the  coat  but- 
toned, the  spot  doesn't  show." 

"What  would  be  the  good  of  a  nice  vest  like  that, 
sir,  if  you  couldn't  wear  your  coat  open?"  There  was 
no  replying  to  that  interrogation.  Tony  threw  the 
waistcoat  in  a  corner  as  Primrose,  investigating  the 
washstand  drawer,  cried  out: 

"Here's  something  more  likely.  Looks  as  how  it 
might  be  gold." 

He  had  found  a  small  gold  locket  among  the  rub- 
bish in  the  drawer  and  held  it  out  to  Tony  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand.  The  young  man  glanced  at  it,  saw  what 
it  was,  and  instantly  snatched  it  away. 

"No,  no !"  he  shouted,  in  sudden  anger. 

"Why?  It's  gold,  ain't  it?  You'd  better  leave  me 
soak  it.  What's  the  good  of  it  kicking  around  your 
drawer  there?" 

"It's  a  lot  of  good,"  came  the  rejoinder,  in  a  pre- 
occupied tone.  "Good  luck,  I  mean." 

"It  ain't  brought  you  much  luck  as  I  can  see," 
grumbled  Primrose. 

"But  it  will— it  will !"  said  Tony,  half  to  himself. 
"And  even  i£  it  shouldn't,  there  are  some  things  I 
can't  eat." 

"Well,  it  would  bring  three  or  four  dollars,  maybe 
• — enough  to  keep  you  goin'  till  the  opery's  done." 


i42  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

In  way  of  reply  Tony  opened  the  locket  and  held  it 
out  for  inspection.  When  the  steel-rimmed  spectacles 
had  been  duly  adjusted,  Primrose  looked  closely  at 
the  picture  in  the  locket,  and  said,  softly: 

"It's  your  mother.  I  never  seen  her.  But  you're 
the  spittin'  image  of  her  I"  The  tears  came  to  his 
eyes. 

Tony  patted  him  gently  on  the  back,  and  taking 
possession  of  the  locket,  said  with  an  affectionate 
smile:  "Don't  cry  about  her — she  wasn't  your 
mother." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  BANK  BALANCE. 

THERE  was  a  short  silence,  during  which 
Primrose  sniffed  into  the  large,  many-col- 
ored handkerchief,  while  Tony  gazed,  with 
misty  eyes,  upon  the  beloved  face  in  the  locket.  He 
was  recalling  how  Romney  Evans  had  given  the 
locket  to  him  after  his  mother's  death,  and  how 
his  old  friend  had  told  the  boy  that  she  would  like  him 
always  to  keep  it,  in  memory  of  his  father,  as  well  as 
of  herself.  He  had  worn  it  on  his  watch-chain  so 
long  as  he  had  one.  When  watch  and  chain  had  gone 
their  way  to  the  pawnbroker's  he  had  put  the  locket 
in  the  drawer  for  safety — and  forgotten  it. 

"Still  sniffling?"  he  demanded  suddenly  of  Prim- 
rose. 

"I  can't  help  thinkin'  what  your  mother'd  be  think- 
in',  lookin'  down  on  her  son — a  gentleman — an'  him 
goin'  to  work  on  his  opery  on  a  empty  stummick," 
was  the  mournful  reply  as  he  put  away  his  handker- 
chief. 


144  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"It  would  be  much  worse  if  I  were  going  to  work 
on  an  empty  head,"  rejoined  Tony.  "Now  trot  along. 
That  thistledowny,  evanescent  thing  we  call  inspira- 
tion is  hovering — signalling  to  what  I  please  to  call 
my  genius." 

"Yes,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir!"  returned  Primrose — 
the  well-trained,  self-effacing  body-servant  coming  to 
the  surface  through  his  shabbiness,  as  it  had  an  inter- 
mittent habit  of  doing.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
I  have  a  letter  I  forgot  to  give  you." 

The  large  handkerchief  had  to  be  removed  labor- 
iously from  his  pocket,  and  he  brought  forth  from 
below  a  business-like  looking  letter. 

"It  came  in  the  last  mail,  sir.  That's  what  I  came 
up  for — to  give  it  to  you.  Only " 

"From  the  Fulton  National  Bank,  eh?"  exclaimed 
Tony.  "Once  upon  a  time,  Primrose,  I  had  funds — 
money,  real  money — in  that  bank !  All  I  had  to  do 
to  get  it  was  to  write  a  check.  I  wonder  what " 

He  opened  the  envelope  and  glanced  at  the  letter- 
head. The  old  servant  watched  him,  blinking  re- 
spectfully. 

"This  seems  to  be  from  the  cashier.  He  begins 
very  affectionately.  'Dear  sir:  You  will  understand 
that  it  is  a  rule  with  this  bank  to  carry  no  accounts 
which  do  not  maintain  an  average  balance  of  five  hun- 


A  BANK  BALANCE  145 

dred  dollars  or  over.  For  the  past  twenty-one  months 
your  balance  has  been  three  dollars  and  seventeen 
cents.  Kindly  close  your  account  at  your  earliest  con- 
venience by  withdrawing  your  balance,  and  oblige — ' 
Ah!"  shouted  Tony,  joyfully,  "I  have  a  balance  to 
my  credit  of  three-seventeen !  Do  you  get  that,  Prim- 
rose? What  time  is  it?" 

He  rushed  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
church  clock.  Primrose  was  no  less  excited. 

"Do  you  mean  there's  three  dollars  and  seventeen 
cents  of  yours  in  the  bank,  sir?" 

"Yes.  A  fortune !  A  fortune !  It's  ten  minutes  to 
three.  Call  me  a  taxi !  No !  no !  I  mean,  get  my 
overcoat!  Where's  my  hat?  Banks  close  at  three, 
on  the  dot." 

"Here's  your  things,  sir,"  said  Primrose,  bringing 
the  coat  and  hat  from  the  curtained  recess  which 
Tony  used  as  a  wardrobe.  "You'll  have  to  hurry, 
sir." 

He  helped  the  young  man  into  his  frayed  overcoat 
and  handed  the  disreputable  hat  to  him  with  a  low 
bow — such  as  it  had  been  his  delight  to  bestow  when 
as  a  valet  in  the  old  days  he  had  sent  his  patron  out 
immaculately  attired  from  hat  to  shoe,  and  could  be 
honestly  proud  of  the  sartorial  tout  ensemble. 

"Good!     We  shall    have  a    feast    to-morrow — a 


146  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

feast,  my  good  Primrose!  What  is  to-morrow? 
Christmas!  We  shall  dine  in  state!  Elijah  had  his 
ravens — Quintard  has  his  bankers!" 

For  a  few  moments  after  Tony  had  dashed  down 
the  stairs  and  slammed  the  door,  Jerry  Primrose 
stood  looking  down  the  trap,  while  two  tears  ran 
down  his  poor  old  blue-veined  nose  and  splashed 
upon  the  uncarpeted  floor. 

"Nothin'  can  knock  the  ginger  out  o'  him  1" 

Following  his  instinct,  the  old  man  moved  about 
the  attic,  making  it  as  tidy  as  he  could.  He  smoothed 
the  blanket  on  the  gloucester  hammock  that  hung  at 
one  side  of  the  room,  and  patted  the  pillow  affection- 
ately. Then  he  went  to  the  table,  and  very  carefully, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  the  papers,  brushed  up  the  spilled 
tobacco,  placed  the  brier  pipe,  the  pens  and  the  pencil 
in  a  row,  at  right-angles  with  the  large  inkstand,  and 
stared  down  interestedly  at  the  manuscript  of  the 
opera,  without  venturing  to  touch  it. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!"  he  murmured.  "An*  all 
for  just  that  writin' !  There's  a  lot  of  blots  on  it,  too. 
I  wonder  whether  they'll  take  anything  off  for  them, 
or  whether  he'll  get  the  full  ten  thousand  anyhow." 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  large  dark  woman,  middle-aged,  with 
the  shadow  of  a  mustache  and  glittering,  beady  black 


A  BANK  BALANCE  147 

eyes,  who  had  come  up  the  trap.  She  was  untidy, 
musty,  but  well-fed-looking,  with  a  square  jaw,  and 
a  set  of  strong  but  irregular  teeth.  Her  malevolent 
gaze  fastened  itself  upon  the  shrinking  servant  and 
in  a  voice  like  a  man's,  growled  at  him : 

"So,  this  is  where  you're  loafing,  you  good-for- 
nothing  lump!" 

"No,  mum !"  protested  Primrose,  trying  to  be 
brave  under  her  accusing  glare.  "I  wasn't  loafin'.  I 
was  only  tidyin'  up  a  bit  after  Mr.  Quintard." 
.  "Oh,  you  were?"  she  sneered,  as  she  came  up  the 
remaining  stairs  and  stood  so  near  to  him  that  he 
seemed  to  feel  her  aggressiveness  as  a  tangible  thing. 
"Do  I  pay  you  for  foolin'  around  up  here,  or  are  you 
supposed  to  work  for  me?" 

"I — I  don't  know  mum,  I  was " 

"Yon  don't  know?  Well,  I'll  tell  you !  Once  for 
all,  I  don't  pay  nobody  nothin'  for  what  I  don't  get." 

She  folded  a  pair  of  grimy,  bare  arms,  muscular  as 
a  prizefighter's,  across  her  wide  chest,  and  looked  at 
Primrose  with  an  expression  that  quite  warranted 
Tony's  description  of  her  as  "the  Great  She- 
Bear." 

.  When  Tony  had  engaged  the  attic  she  had  in- 
formed him  that  her  name  was  "Mrs.  Bulger."  But 
he  preferred  his  own  picturesque  appelation,  adopted 


i48  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

as  he  came  to  know  her  charming  ways.  He  had 
almost  forgotten  that  she  had  any  other. 

Primrose  quite  agreed  with  Tony  that  she  had 
many  of  the  attributes  of  a  grizzly  bear,  as  he  had 
observed  them  in  menageries  and  read  of  them  in 
books,  and  though  he  never  spoke  of  her  himself  as 
the  Great  She-Bear,  he  chuckled  enjoyingly  whenever 
Tony  used  the  term.  Just  now,  without  the  support 
of  Tony's  presence,  he  felt  entirely  at  her  mercy. 

"I — I  didn't  think  you'd  mind,  mum,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"You've  got  another  think  comin'  to  you,"  was  her 
retort,  as  unfolding  her  arms,  she  brought  down  one 
huge  hand  into  the  palm  of  the  other  with  a  slap  that 
made  him  jump.  "If  any  of  my  roomers  wants  you 
to  clean  up  for  'em,  they've  got  to  settle  first  with 
me." 

"Mr.  Quintard  would  settle,  most  cheerful — if  he 
could,"  declared  Jerry.  "He's  got  a  beautiful  dis- 
position, mum." 

"Beautiful  is  as  beautiful  pays,"  she  snapped. 
"That's  my  motto.  And  what  I  want  to  know  is, 
what  do  you  get  for  waitin'  on  him  hand  and  foot?" 

"Well,  mum,"  hisitated  Primrose,  after  a  short 
pause.  "It's  like  this:  Did  you  ever  get  very  close, 
in  a  confidential  position,  to  a  real  gentleman  ?" 


A  BANK  BALANCE  149 

"I  should  say  not,"  replied  the  Great  She-Bear, 
with  a  sniff  of  virtuous  indignation. 

"I  didn't  think  you  had,"  was  the  other's  dry  re- 
joinder. "Well,  mum,  I  was  brung  up  in  a  gentle- 
man's family,  from  scullery  boy  to  butler,  in  the  old 
country,  and  I  served  me  time,  too,  as  a  gentleman's 
gentleman." 

The  Great  She-Bear  burst  into  a  shout  of  sarcastic 
laughter. 

Primrose  thought  it  the  most  mirthless  sound  he 
had  ever  heard. 

"You?  A  gentleman's  gentleman"  she  echoed, 
scornfully. 

"Yes,  mum.  And  there's  the  point  I'm  makin'.  It 
means  a  lot  to  me  to  be  close  to  one  of  me  own  ag'in. 
Just  to  hear  a  gentleman's  voice — to  have  him  treat 
me  like  a  human  bein'  an'  a  friend — still  keepin'  me 
in  my  place,  mum." 

"Is  that  all  you  get  out  of  him?" 

"It's  more  than  enough  for  me." 

"He  never  gives  you  a  tip,  and  you  call  him  a 
gentleman?"  Her  scorn  was  profound. 

"You  don't  judge  his  sort  by  their  tips,"  replied 
Jerry,  soberly.  "Why  it's  an  honor  to  serve 
him." 

"But  you're  too  high  and  mighty  to  clean  my  ens- 


1 50  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

pidors,"  she  growled,  very  much  like  the  she-bear 
Tony  called  her.  "Well,  you'll  begin  on  them  to- 
day. I'll  learn  you.  Come  on  now !  You  can  start 
on  the  china  one  in  the  parlor.  And  mind  you  don't 
break  it!  Take  one  chip  out  of  it  and  I'll " 

She  did  not  finish.  It  was  not  necessary.  She 
clenched  one  of  her  mighty  fists  and  extended  it  in 
Primrose's  direction.  But  the  spirit  of  rebellion 
arose  in  him,  and,  as  the  Great  She-Bear  started  down 
into  the  pit,  he  grumbled  loudly  enough  for  her  to 
hear: 

"I  wasn't  engaged  to  clean  cuspidors." 

"What's  that?"  she  demanded.  "Well,  if  you 
want  a  better  job,  perhaps  you  know  you  can  get  it. 
But  you  can  take  it  from  me  that  it  isn't  every  land- 
lady who's  goin'  to  put  up  with  an  old  rum-hound 
like  you." 

He  put  up  his  two  hands  weakly,  as  if  to  ward  off 
a  blow,  and  the  ready  tears  trinkled  down  his  nose. 
There  was  a  sob  in  his  tones  as  he  answered,  broken- 
ly: "I  ain't  touched  a  drop  for  a  week,  Mr.  Quin- 
tard's  reformin'  me." 

"If  he  knew  how  you  got  fired  from  one  place  to 
another,  because  you  couldn't  keep  sober!"  was  the 
Great  She-Bear's  parting  snarl,  as  she  went  on  down 
the  stairs. 


A  BANK  BALANCE  151 

"Mr.  Quintard  knows  all  about  me,"  he  retorted, 
following  her  down.  "But  he  never  reminds  me  how 
I  came  to  be  what  I  am.  That's  the  difference 
between  you  and  a  gentleman." 

Anybody  within  earshot  of  the  kitchen  regions,  far 
down  in  the  bowels  of  the  melcancholy  old  lodging- 
house,  might  have  been  edified  by  a  continuance  of 
the  discussion,  with  the  Great  She-Bear  in  the  ascend- 
ant so  far  as  vituperative  violence  was  concerned,  but 
Primrose  holding  his  own  in  the  way  of  logic  and 
sound  argument. 

The  colloquy  lasted  for  ten  minutes  or  more.  Then 
it  was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  lady  ordering  the  old 
man  to  "git  at  them  cuspidors — or  else  get  out." 

"All  the  same,"  Primrose  muttered,  as  he  began 
on  the  first  cuspidor,  "she  ain't  no  gentleman,  and 
never  will  be !" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY. 

FOR  some  minutes  after  the  disappearance  of 
the  Great  She-Bear  and  Jerry  Primrose  the 
attic  remained  empty.  It  is  barely  possible 
that  the  Spirit  of  Christmas  may  have  peeped  through 
the  window  since  it  was  certainly  abroad  that  after- 
noon, and  it  may  have  been  that  the  poetic  inspiration 
which  Tony  Quintard  had  declared  was  hovering 
about  him  lingered  to  await  his  return.  But  human 
presence  there  was  none,  until 

The  dormer  window  opened  gently  a  little  way  and 
a  girl's  face,  framed  by  a  dainty  grey  hood,  appeared 
in  the  opening.  She  had  been  looking  through  the 
glass  before  opening  the  window.  She  wanted  to 
make  sure  that  the  place  was  untenanted. 

It  was  Marjorie  Caner  who  thus  burglariously  en- 
tered the  sanctum  of  the  poet,  and  her  movements 
were  as  stealthy  as  though  she  had  come  to  rob. 

Very  pretty  she  seemed,  in  her  "liberty  cloak"  of 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  153 

soft  gray  material,  with  its  frilled  hood,  from  which 
tendrils  of  soft  hair  escaped  and  turned  themselves 
into  little  snares  on  her  white  forehead.  Except  for 
a  small  apron  and  a  violet  chiffon  scarf,  she  was  all 
in  gray,  including  slippers  and  hose.  Her  color  had 
been  heightened  by  the  eager  winter  air,  and  if  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  Christmas  rose,  that  is  what  she 
looked  like. 

"A  Cinderella-man,"  she  murmured  softly,  "but 
he  is  not  here." 

A  tinkling  nervous  laugh  came  to  her  red  lips,  as 
she  ventured  further  into  the  attic,  and,  with  swift 
glances,  satisfied  herself  that  for  the  moment  she 
would  not  be  discovered. 

She  tripped  up  to  the  window  and  went  out  on  the 
snow-covered  roof.  In  a  moment  she  was  back,  this 
time  carrying  a  large  market  basket,  with  wicker  lids. 
Obviously  it  was  heavy,  for  only  with  an  effort  did 
she  lift  it  over  the  sill  and  place  it  on  the  floor  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"My!  How  cold  it  is  I"  she  whispered.  "No 
wonder!  I've  left  the  window  open." 

Hastily  closing  the  casement,  she  ran  about  the 
attic,  peeping  into  every  corner.  The  trap,  with  the 
stairs,  interested  her  particularly,  as  being  the  direc- 
tion from  which  she  might  expect  interruption. 


i54  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  hear  their  footsteps," 
she  reasurred  herself.  "Then,  before  they  get  up 
the  stairs,  I  can  make  my  exit  by  the  window.  Oh, 
dear,  it  seems  to  be  colder  every  instant!  It  isn't 
because  I  did  not  close  the  window  at  once,  either. 
There  isn't  a  bit  of  heat  in  this  register.  Poor  Cin- 
derella-man !  Romney  told  me  his  attic  was  cold,  but 
I  did  not  understand  how  cold  a  room  could  be  when 
there  is  no  fire,  or  steam  heat,  or  anything.  I  wish  I 
could  have  some  of  the  steam  from  our  house  turned 
in  here!" 

Marjorie  noted  more  than  the  frigidity.  She  saw 
that  the  furniture  was  mean  and  scanty,  and  that  the 
room  had  a  generally  forlorn  aspect  which  chilled 
her  to  the  soul. 

"The  Cinderella-man  is  a  poet,"  she  said,  half 
aloud.  "I  think  he  will  appreciate  a  few  Christmas 
decorations." 

From  her  basket  she  took  a  large  bunch  of  holly 
and  English  ivy,  and,  with  deft  fingers,  hung  branches 
of  the  red  berries,  and  the  deep-green,  shiny  leaves, 
wherever  there  was  a  convenient  projection. 

"That  warms  it  up,"  she  remarked,  in  a  satisfied 
way.  "Now  for  the  mistletoe!  I  wonder  whether 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  155 

the  Cinderella-man  thinks  about  the  old-fashioned 
significance  of  mistletoe !  If  he  doesn't,  he  is  not  the 
kind  of  poet  I  think  he  is,  from  his  song." 

She  brought  a  spray  of  the  mystic  plant,  its  white 
berries  twinkling  like  small  stars  among  the  olive- 
hued  leaves,  and  hung  it  on  the  railing  around  the 
stair  opening.  She  laughed  softly. 

"It  will  be  almost  above  his  head  as  he  comes  up. 
But,  if  there  is  no  girl,  what  difference  will  it  make 
to  him  where  it  hangs  ?  Now  for  the  more  important 
part  of  what  I  have  to  do." 

She  hummed  the  song  she  had  sung  the  evening 
before,  with  Albert  Sewall  playing  the  accompani- 
ment. But  her  voice  was  very  low  now;  it  would 
hardly  have  been  audible  to  anybody  in  an  adjoining 
room — had  there  been  such  a  one. 

'  'He  rules  no  realm !  He's  more  than  king !  A 
woman's  joy  his  harvesting!'  "  she  sang,  as  she  bus- 
ied herself  taking  things  from  her  capacious  market 
basket. 

And  what  unexpected  things  they  were,  to  be  sure  I 

First  came  a  small  white  tablecloth.  Looking  at 
the  table  with  a  speculative  eye,  she  saw  that  it  would 
be  dangerous  to  move  any  of  the  loose  sheets  of 
manuscripts  that  littered  it  all  over. 

"I  couldn't  put  my  cloth  there,"  she  reflected.    "I 


156  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

should  have  to  take  away  his  papers,  and  if  I  did,  no 
doubt  he'd  pursue  me  to  the  ends  of  earth  to  punish 
me  for  the  sacrilege.  No;  something  else  must  be 
done.  There's  a  trunk.  It's  nearly  as  high  as  the 
table,  and  has  almost  as  large  a  top.  When  the  cloth 
is  on,  it  won't  look  at  all  badly.  That's  what  I'll  do." 

Indeed,  when  the  glistening  white  damask  was 
spread  on  the  travel-battered  old  trunk,  it  looked  as 
inviting  as  if  it  had  been  a  polished  mahogany  table, 
instead  of  the  dented,  bruised,  rusty  iron-bound  old 
voyager  it  really  was.  A  minute  before  it  had  been  a 
veritable  tramp  of  a  trunk.  Set  off  by  the  white 
cloth,  it  became  as  respectable  as  a  clergyman  in  a 
new  surplice. 

Having  spread  the  cloth,  Marjorie  brought  from 
her  basket  jars  of  jam  and  marmalade,  a  smoked 
sausage  tied  with  a  red  ribbon,  a  cold  chicken  fes- 
tively decorated,  a  Christmas  cake  brave  in  its  icing 
and  red-sugar  holly  berries,  a  loaf  of  graham  bread, 
a  crock  of  baked  beans,  a  tea-caddy,  spirit  lamp,  small 
copper  kettle,  plate  of  dainty  sandwiches,  and  a  batal- 
lion  of  golden-brown  cookies. 

"There!  That  isn't  so  bad  for  a  Christmas  Eve 
picnic,"  she  purred,  delightedly.  "I  hope  he  will  like 
at  leas^  some  of  the  things  I  have  brought.  Now 
for  thi  tea  1" 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  157 

Kettle  in  hand,  she  bustled  over  to  the  washstand 
and  poured  in  some  water  from  the  pitcher.  Then, 
taking  a  match  from  the  table,  she  lighted  the  alcohol 
lamp  and  set  the  kettle  over  it. 

"Let  me  see!  Where  did  I  put  those — ah,  here 
they  are !" 

She  had  been  fumbling  in  the  basket,  her  pretty 
brows  raised  in  anxiety,  until  she  placed  her  fingers 
on  what  she  sought.  It  was  a  box  of  Turkish  cigar- 
ettes. These  she  set  upon  the  table  by  the  side  of 
the  brier  pipe. 

The  next  article  extracted  from  that  wonderful 
basket  was  a  pink-and-white  silk  comfortable,  all  lace 
and  be-ribboned.  She  spread  this  upon  the  hammock, 
and  very  gay  it  looked  when  arranged  to  her  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Now,  Mr.  Cinderella-man,  I  don't  know  what 
you  will  say,  but  I  think  the  effect  of  that  counter- 
pane is  excellent.  It  not  only  looks  well,  but  it  sug- 
gests warmth  and  dreamless  slumber.  People  talk 
about  dreamless  sleep  as  if  it  were  a  most  desirable 
thing,"  she  went  on  musingly.  "Yet,  might  it  not  be 
better  to  have  dreams,  if  they  are  pleasant  ones? 
Now,  a  poet,  I  should  think,  would  be  likely  to 
dream " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  running  to  the  railing 


158  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

at  the  stairs,  leaned  over  and  listened.  Her  heart  was 
beating  wildly,  and  her  breath  came  and  went  so  fast 
that  she  felt  as  if  she  would  suffocate. 

"Good  gracious !    He's  coming !" 

Gathering  her  cloak  about  her,  she  ran  to  the  win- 
dow and  tried  to  pull  it  open.  But  the  frost  had 
wedged  it  tight.  She  could  not  make  it  move.  Panic- 
stricken,  she  looked  about  for  a  corner  in  which  to 
hide. 

"Oh,  isn't  this  too  dreadful!" 

She  darted  behind  the  curtain  where  Tony  kept 
what  remained  of  his  clothes,  and  pulled  the  curtain 
straight  in  front  of  her.  It  was  better  than  being  out 
in  the  room.  But  it  was  not  perfect  as  a  hiding-place, 
either,  for  the  curtain  did  not  quite  reach  the 
floor  and  the  tips  of  her  grey  shoes  showed  under- 
neath. 

Hardly  was  Marjorie  hidden  when  the  door  below 
was  flung  open  with  a  crash,  followed  by  the  rapid 
footsteps  of  somebody  coming  up  the  stairs.  She 
heard  the  somebody  whistling,  as  if  he  were  in  good 
spirits.  Then  he  stopped  whistling  to  utter  a  most 
emphatic  "Good  Lord!" 

The  newcomer  was  Tony  Quintard,  and  she  knew 
he  had  just  caught  sight  of  the  appetizing  spread  on 
the  trunk. 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  159 

In  his  arms  he  carried,  besides  a  flat,  oblong  parcel, 
a  large  paper  bag  with  a  loaf  of  bread  sticking  out  of 
it,  a  can  of  soup,  and  some  other  comestibles  of  a  del- 
icatessen aspect.  At  sight  of  the  trunk  he  dropped 
his  burden  unceremoniously  on  the  floor.  He  was 
thunderstruck — literally !  He  stood  there  with  mouth 
agape  for  fully  a  moment  before  he  asked  himself 
with  comic  bewilderment :  "Is  this  a  "  mirage — or 
what?  Am  I  out  of  my  senses?"  To  test  the  reality 
of  the  feast  spread  before  his  amazed  eyes,  whose 
evidence  he  doubted,  he  sniffed  at  the  chicken.  "My 
eyes  might  deceive  me,"  he  concluded,  "but  my  nose 
— never!  No  one  would  dream  the  savor  of  that 
chicken!  It  is  real,  even  if  everything  else  on  the 
trunk  were  imagination." 

He  twisted  a  leg  off  the  chicken  and  took  a  bite. 
A  rapturous  expression  crept  over  his  face.  He  at- 
tacked the  chicken  leg  vigorously.  Between  bites  he 
ejaculated : 

"It  isn't  everybody  that  can  roast  a  chicken.  The 
genius  who  cooked  this  fowl  knew  how  to  control  his 
fire  so  that  it  would  give  precisely  the  amount  of  heat 
required  at  every  stage  of  the  operation — not  a  de- 
gree too  much.  Such  a  cook  deserves  the  cordon 
bleu,  and  I  hope  he  has  it.  Men  have  received  half  a 
dozen  royal  decorations  for  achievements  less  emi- 


160  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

ncnt  than  this.  My  honorable  but  unknown  chef,  I 
salute  you!" 

He  waved  the  drumstick  and  bowed  low  to  an  im- 
aginary personage.  It  was  while  he  leaned  forward, 
his  left  hand  over  his  heart,  that  his  eyes  fell  upon 
the  kettle,  gaily  singing  above  the  alcohol  lamp. 

Now  he  was  wonder-struck.  Singing  kettles  were 
no  more  to  be  encountered  in  Tony's  attic  than  ze- 
bras. He  questioned  its  integrity  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  did  not  hesitate  to  poke  a  finger  into  the  alco- 
hol flame.  That  convinced  him.  "Suffering  kittens  P 
he  exclaimed  ruefully  as  he  nursed  the  finger.  "Yes, 
that  is  a  flame,  without  a  doubt;  that  is  a  kettle,  and 
here's  a  complete  and  miraculous  replenishment  of  the 
larder  along  lines  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  If 
I  were  Alladin  himself  I  could  not  do  better!"  He 
pondered  for  a  moment  over  the  mystery,  then  sud- 
denly turned  to  the  stairs  and  called  down  lustily: 

"Primrose !    Primrose !    Primrose !" 

Impatiently  he  stamped  about,  and  receiving  no  re- 
sponse he  sprang  down  the  stairs,  calling  loudly  for 
the  old  man,  who  was  then  no  doubt  far  below  in 
the  subterranean  fastnesses  of  that  dreary  house 
scouring  cuspidors. 

As  Tony  disappeared  through  the  trap  Marjorie 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  161 

ventured  to  push  the  curtain  aside  to  take  observa- 
tions. The  situation  was  an  alarming  one. 

From  the  stairway  below  she  could  hear  the  poefs 
voice  calling,  "Primrose!"  He  was  Gable  to  return 
at  any  moment.  The  dormer  window  through  which 
she  had  entered  and  by  which  she  might  conceivably 
make  her  escape  was  some  yards  away,  and  she  re- 
membered that  it  had  seemed  to  be  frozen  fast. 

"It's  the  only  way  r  she  murmured.  "I  •«**  get 
out." 

Gathering  courage,  she  darted  toward  the  window. 
While  she  was  half  way  across  the  attic  she  heard 
Tony  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  catapulted  herself 
back  to  the  shelter  of  the  curtain  like  a  mouse  dad- 
ing  pursuit.  Only  the  tips  of  her  grey  pump*,  peep- 
ing from  below  the  calico  folds,  might  have  betrayed 
her  trembling  presence. 

Tony  returned  as  boyishly  excited  and  as  impatient 
as  he  had  rushed  away,  without  waiting  for  the  slow- 
moving  Primrose  to  follow.  How  his  eyes  fefl  upon 
the  Yuletide  decorations.  He  touched  the  holly  and 
ivy  with  reverent  fingers  and  stood  for  a  moment  gat- 
ing thoughtfully  at  the  spray  of  mistletoe-  Present- 
ly, as  he  moved  about,  he  tripped  over  the  market 
basket. 

"Jove!" 


1 62  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Opening  the  basket,  he  took  from  it  a  rose-colored 
angora  muffler.  With  mystification  glittering  in  his 
eyes  and  wrinkling  his  forehead,  he  wound  the  muf- 
fler around  his  neck. 

"I  may  have  to  surrender  those  other  things — 
when  I  wake  up,"  he  muttered.  "But,  by  all  that's 
bountiful,  I'll  keep  this  muffler !  It's  too  comfortable 
a  thing  to  let  go  this  weather,  sleeping  or  waking." 

He  picked  up  the  now  nearly  denuded  drumstick 
from  the  table  where  he  had  dropped  it  and  cleaned 
it  to  the  shank.  Throwing  it  into  the  waste-basket 
under  his  table,  he  returned  to  the  trunk  and  took 
another  survey. 

"Marvelous!"  he  breathed.  "A  tea  service!  Egg- 
shell porcelain !  And  a  tea-caddy  of  sandalwood,  cut- 
glass  sugar  bowl !  What  a  noble  sausage — imperial 
bologna!  And  sandwiches!"  He  took  a  bite,  and 
smiled:  "They're  as  real  as  the  chicken!" 

A  knock  at  the  door  impelled  him  to  run  to  the 
trap  and  go  down  a  step. 

"That  you,  Primrose?" 

"Yes,  sir!"  replied  the  husky  tones  of  the  faithful 
servitor. 

"Then  come  up !    Come  up !" 

Tony  reached  down,  seized  Primrose  by  the  collar 
of  his  loose  coat — an  act  that  caused  the  occupant  al- 


A  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY  163 

most  to  fall  out  of  it  at  the  other  end — and  dragged 
him  into  the  room. 

"Anything  the  matter,  sir?"  gasped  Primrose, 
fighting  for  breath.  "Anything  happened  to  upset 
you,  sir?" 

"Upset  me?  Well,  what  do  you  think?"  went  on 
Tony,  slowly  and  impressively.  "Kris  Kingle  has 
been  here!" 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE. 

THE  mental  processes  of  Jerry  Primrose  were 
not  rapid  of  movement,  and  as  Tony  pointed 
to  the  trunk  with  its  appetizing  display  he 
could  only  wink  his  faded  eyes  and  allow  his  mouth 
to  fall  open  in  wonderment. 

"Explain,  good  Primrose,"  shouted  Tony,  "this 
multiplicity  of  delectable  nutriment,  this  largesse  of 
eats,  this  sumptuous  banquet!  And,  look  around 
you !  These  holiday  decorations !  Don't  tell  me  they 
were  all  brought  by  Elijah's  ravens !" 

It  was  then  that  a  solution  of  the  puzzle  worked 
itself  out  in  Primrose's  brain.  Looking  at  Tony 
rather  reproachfully,  he  said: 

"You've  gone  and  blowed  in  the  whole  three  dol- 
lars and  seventeen  cents !" 

"What?  That?  Them?  Those?"  cried  the 
youth  scornfully.  "For  three-seventeen  ?  This  isn't 
bargain  day  at  the  Ritz.  No  I  No !  There  lie  my 
frugal  foragings." 

164 


THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE  165 

He  indicated  the  bag  with  the  loaf  of  bread,  and 
the  rest  of  the  humble  provender  he  brought  in,  which 
lay  neglected  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  the  trunk. 

"I'm  blowed!"  ejaculated  the  old  man. 

"You're  a  clever  dissembler,"  charged  Tony,  stern- 
ly. "Now,  tell  me  at  once.  You  know  whence  came 
these  gifts.  Don't  deny  it.  The  truth  1" 

"  'Pon  me  word,  sir " 

"They  came  from  the  gentleman  in  the  fur  coat. 
He  smuggled  them  in  with  your  connivance.  He 
tipped  you  to  hold  your  long  tongue."  Then  swing- 
ing around  ferociously  to  face  the  protesting  Prim- 
rose, Tony  demanded:  "Where's  that  tip?" 

Tremblingly  Primrose  turned  his  pockets  inside 
out. 

"Honest,  sir  1  I  ain't  let  anybody  in  since  you  went 
out!" 

"Then  where  did  this  banquet  come  from?" 

Primrose  was  inspecting  the  tea  service,  lovingly 
feeling  the  semi-transparent  cups  and  passing  his  fin- 
gers over  the  sharp  edges  of  the  cut-glass  sugar  bowl. 
These  were  things  that  appealed  to  him,  for  they  re- 
minded him  of  past  days  when,  as  a  well-fed,  neatly- 
dressed  butler,  he  had  had  occasion  to  handle  them 
professionally. 

"  Tore  Gawd,  sir,  I'm  tellin'  the  truth  1    I  don't 


1 66  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

know."  His  protest  was  too  tearfully  honest  to  be 
questioned.  Now  he  turned  his  attention  again  to  the 
service.  "This  here  is  the  most  genteel  china  I've 
seen  since  I  used  to  be  butler  for  the  Suydams,  sir.  It 
would  be  a  real  pleasure,  I'm  sure,  to  serve  tea  in 
these  things.  And  the  tea  in  this  here  caddy,"  he  con- 
tinued as  he  opened  it  and  inhaled  rapturously,  "it's 
tea  as  is  tea,  sir." 

"But  that  doesn't  explain  where  it  all  came  from," 
mused  Tony,  rocking  on  toes  and  heels,  while  he  re- 
garded the  old  man  doubtfully.  "Listen,  my  good 
Primrose.  Do  you  think  there  is  any  one  in  this 
house  who — er — entertains  a  secret  passion  forme?" 

"Not  a  chance,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man  in  a 
solemn  tone  of  conviction. 

Tony  laughed  and  made  another  discovery.  Here 
are  cigarettes — cigarettes — by  the  hundred!"  He 
stuffed  two  of  them  in  Primrose's  gaping  mouth  and 
lighted  another  for  himself. 

"It  would  make  you  believe  in  Kris  Kingle,  sir — 
now  wouldn't  it?" 

"Or  fairies!"  Tony  shouted  joyously.  "That's  it! 
Fairies  have  been  here !" 

"I  didn't  let  no  fairies  in  this  afternoon,  sir." 

Tony  meanwhile  had  picked  up  a  dust-covered  lad- 
der from  a  corner  of  the  garret  and  was  lugging  it 


THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE  167 

across  the  room,  with  his  eye  upon  a  trap  door  in  the 
roof  above  his  head. 

"What  are  you  doin'  with  the  ladder?"  asked  the 
puzzled  Primrose. 

"Fairies  always  come  in  by  the  roof,"  replied 
Tony.  "Hold  the  ladder  while  I  go  up  to  the  trap 
door.  That's  right !  Don't  let  it  slip !" 

With  the  ladder  planted  firmly  against  the  edge  of 
the  trap,  and  the  old  man  steadying  it  with  hand  and 
foot,  Tony  went  up  and  began  to  push  at  the  trap 
door. 

"So  you're  expectin'  to  find  fairies  up  there?" 

"There's  no  telling.  They  may  have  heard  that 
we  were  broke.  You  see,  they  didn't  know  about  that 
check  for  three-seventeen.  Ah !  There  goes  the  trap 
door.  It's  yielding.  I'm  going  to  make  a  thorough 
search." 

He  pushed  the  trap  open  and  ascended  another  step 
on  the  ladder,  so  that  he  could  look  around  on  the 
roof. 

"As  I  thought !"  he  exclaimed.  "There  are  tracks 
up  here — fairy  tracks!" 

"Pigeon  tracks !"  was  Primrose's  sardonic  explana- 
tion. 

Tony  closed  the  trap  and  came  down  the  ladder 
before  he  remarked  solemnly: 


1 68  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"The  indications  are  that  the  commissary  depart- 
ment made  its  advance  upon  us  through  the  roof!" 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  but  they  couldn't,"  corrected  the 
matter-of-fact  Primrose.  "The  trap  was  bolted  on 
the  inside." 

"That  settles  it,"  was  the  reply,  as  Tony  carried 
the  ladder  back  to  its  place  in  the  corner.  "Don't  you 
know,  you  dear  old  ignoramus,  that  only  fairies  could 
have  got  that  basket  through  a  bolted  trap  door?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  fairies!"  declared  Primrose 
stoutly. 

"Very  likely.  Well  do  you  believe  in — er — drum- 
sticks ?  If  you  do,  try  this." 

Primrose  gratefully  accepted  the  drumstick  and 
there  was  real  enthusiasm  in  his  tones  as  he  uttered 
his  thanks. 

While  Primrose  gave  attention  to  the  chicken  leg, 
and  also  proceeded  to  consume  a  sandwich  that  was 
pressed  upon  him,  Tony,  cake  in  hand,  turned  to  his 
hammock  that  he  might  sit  and  munch  at  his  ease. 
Instead,  he  started  back  from  it  in  comic  surprise. 

"There  has  been  a  fairy  here,"  he  exploded;  "and 
she's  been  sleeping  in  my  bed.  See !  See !  She's  left 
her  quilt  behind  her!" 

While  Tony  held  up  the  quilt  for  the  old  man's  in- 
spection and  sniffed  its  dainty  perfume,  Primrose 


THE  VIOLET  ROSETTK  169 

made  a  discovery  on  his  own  account.  It  was  a  small 
rosette  of  violet  ribbon  which  he  picked  up  from  the 
floor. 

"Here's  somethin'  else  she  forgot  to  take  with 
her!" 

Tony  dropped  the  quilt,  snatched  the  ribbon  from 
his  valet  and  sniffed  it.  Without  a  doubt  it  came 
from  the  same  sourse  as  the  quilt.  That  delicate  per- 
fume— delicate  as  it  was — could  not  be  mistaken. 

"The  plot  thickens!"  he  declared.  "This,  my  dear 
Primrose,"  he  went  on  solemnly  and  with  conviction, 
"is  what  I'd  call  a  clue!" 

Primrose  knew  better.  "That  ain't  a  clue,"  he  pro- 
tested. "No,  sir!  It's,  what-you-may-call-it  off — lin- 
gerie!" He  pronounced  it  to  rhyme  with  "fingery" 
if  there  were  such  a  word. 

"You  think  so?"  grinned  Tony. 

"Sure !  I've  seen  'em  in  shop  windows  on  the  ave- 
nue." This  expansively,  like  the  man  of  the  world 
that  he  was. 

Tony  considered  the  rosette  thoughtfully.  At  last 
he  said:  "Cinderella,  when  she  visited  her  prince,  left 
behind  a  glass  slipper.  .  .  .  My  fairy  godmother, 
when  she  visited  me  to-day,  left  behind  a  violet 
rosette.  That's  rather  nice.  Quite  an  idea !  I  think 
I  can  use  it." 


170  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Use  it?"  protested  Primrose.  "Gentlemen  don't 
wear  things  like  that." 

"Possibly  not.  But  authors !  Well,  they  use  just 
such  trifles  to  decorate  their  plots.  I  needed  some- 
thing like  this  for  that  song  in  the  second  act.  Here  1 
Clear  out  now !  I'm  going  to  work !  I'll  lay  the 
rosette  here  on  my  table,  for  inspiration." 

"But  we  ain't  found  out  yet  who  sent " 

"I'll  leave  that  to  you.  I'm  struck  with  an  idea — 
they  don't  come  often — I  can't  afford  to  lose  it — I 
must  get  to  work.  You  go  ahead  and  learn  the  name 
of  my  fairy  godmother.  When  you  have  it,  come  and 
tell  me.  Oh,  by  the  way,"  Tony  interrupted  himself, 
as  he  picked  up  from  the  floor  the  oblong  parcel  he 
had  brought  in  with  him.  "Here's  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent for  you — a  pair  of  suspenders.  Useful  and  dec- 
orative at  the  same  time." 

"Oh,  sir,"  gulped  Primrose  as  he  opened  the  par- 
cel and  took  the  decidedly  gaudy  articles  in  his  trem- 
bling fingers.  "You  shouldn't  have  blowed  yourself 
on  me  like  this." 

"But  see — the  fairies  provide.  Take  this  sausage 
— it's  all  dressed  up!  You're  wild  about  sausage. 
But  don't  eat  the  sash  I" 

Primrose  took  the  smoked  sausage  and  was  admir- 
ing the  pink  ribbon  on  it,  when  there  was  a  sudden — 


THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE  171 

and  unpleasant — interruption.  The  Great  She-Bear 
put  her  head  through  the  trap  of  the  stairs  and  deliv- 
ered herself  of  a  baritone  cough.  Then,  as  the  old 
servant  turned  i  n  her  direction,  she  at  once 
opened  the  vials  of  her  wrath  upon  his  unlucky 
head. 

"So,  you're  up  here  again,  spending  the  day — are 
you?" 

"Not  spending  the  day,"  interposed  Tony 
Quintard,  politely.  "Just  bringing  up  a  letter  to 
me." 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  snapped.  "I  heard  you  calling 
him  half  an  hour  ago.  Do  you  think  I'm  payin'  him 
wages  just  to  fiddle  about  up  here  all  afternoon, 
bringin'  you  a  letter?" 

"Well,  you  need  not  make  such  an  infernal  row 
about  it." 

"I'll  make  all  the  row  I  please,"  she  retorted. 
"And  without  askin'  leave  of  you." 

"Then  you'll  make  it  somewhere  else,"  he  told  her, 
with  extreme  courtesy. 

Placing  her  arms  akimbo,  her  generous-sized  hands 
resting  upon  her  hips,  the  Great  She-Bear  advanced  a 
step  toward  Tony  and  snorted: 

"Don't  you  give  me  any  of  your  impudence,  young 
man?" 


172  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  might  give  you  all  the  impudence  I  could  scrape 
together,  and  the  balance  would  still  be  in  your 
favor,"  was  his  suave  rejoinder. 

"If  you  can't  talk  plain,  keep  your  tongue  to  your- 
self." 

"In  plain  words,  madam,  I  object  exceedingly  to 
your  rude  habit  of  bursting  into  my  apartment  with- 
out knocking." 

"It's  my  house !"  she  stormed.  "I'll  do  as  I  like 
in  it." 

"This  is  my  room.  You  have  no  right  to  enter 
without  my  permission,  so  long  as  I  pay  the  rent." 

She  turned  on  him  in  malicious  triumph.  "You 
haven't  paid  your  rent.  But  you  can  go  and  squan- 
dei  the  money  you  ought  to  be  givin'  me,  on  swell 
food,  and — and  Christmas  decorations " 

"Here !  I'll  pay  the  rent,  if  that's  what  you  want," 
broke  in  Tony,  taking  two  one-dollar  bills  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  "Here  it  is — two  dollars.  Don't 
forget  to  give  me  the  receipt." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  she  growled,  as  she  pushed 
the  money  inside  the  front  of  her  dress.  "But  I 
want  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Quintard,  that  I  won't 
have  you  keepin'  Jerry  Primrose  potterin'  around  up 
here,  chinnin'  to  him  an'  fillin'  his  old  gullet.  And 
as  for  you,"  she  abruptly  turned  on  the  old  man  "you 


THE  VIOLET  ROSETTE  173 

go  down  stairs  double-quick  and  get  to  work.  When 
you've  done  the  cuspidors,  you  can  scrub  the  vesti- 
bule. D'ye  hear?" 

Although  Primrose  uttered  a  very  humble  "Yes, 
mum !"  as  he  disappeared,  he  contrived  to  make  Tony 
aware  of  a  slow  and  watery  wink  which  conveyed  a 
world  of  meaning.  Tony  knew  that  while  Primrose 
might  yield  to  the  enemy  temporarily,  he  had  a  strat- 
egic plan  in  his  mind  which  would  bring  him  back  to 
the  service  of  the  young  man  before  the  day  was  over. 

"Primrose  is  my  servant,  Mr.  Quintard, — not 
yours,"  finished  the  Great  She-Bear  as  she  followed 
Primrose  down  the  stairs. 

"Thank  you  for  putting  it  so  delicately,"  laughed 
Tony.  "And  just  to  show  you  that  there's  no  ill  feel- 
ing, permit  me  to  offer  you  a  piece  of  my  chicken. 
The  choisest  part  is  none  too  good  for  you.  Now, 
here  is  a  particularly  tender  morsel." 

He  leaned  over  the  railing,  proffering  the  neck  on 
the  end  of  a  fork.  She  seemed  inclined  to  snatch  it 
from  the  fork  and  throw  it  in  his  face.  But  she  con- 
trolled the  implse,  and,  with  a  malevolent  frown, 
growled:  "Eat  it  yourself!"  and  vanished,  banging 
the  door  furiously  behind  her. 

Tony  lighted  a  cigarette  and  walked  slowly  to  his 
writing  table.  The  Great  She-Bear  had  ceased  to 


i74  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

exist  to  him.  He  lifted  the  bow  of  ribbon — very  gin- 
gerly in  two  fingers — and  knit  his  brows  in  thought. 
But  somehow  the  inspiration  sought  did  not  come, 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  held  the  rosette  in 
one  hand  while  he  urged  his  pen  wih  the  other. 

At  last  he  threw  down  the  pen,  and,  with  an  im- 
patient groan,  got  up  from  his  chair.  "What's  the 
matter?"  he  grumbled.  Then,  brightening  suddenly: 
"I  know — my  thinking-cap!"  It  was  the  battered 
and  shabby  turban  wihch  lived  on  the  shelf,  whose 
curtains  had  sheltered  Marjorie.  All  this  time  she 
had  been  standing  there,  straight  up  behind  the 
ragged  folds  in  great  trepidation,  but  quite  uncon- 
scious that  the  tips  of  her  slippers  were  on  view  below 
the  edge  of  the  curtains. 

As  Tony  put  on  the  turban,  his  eyes  chanced  to 
fall  upon  the  small  gray  shoes  and  he  started  invol- 
untarily. Then  recovering  himself  a  little,  he  stared 
hard  at  the  little  shoe-tips  and  tried  to  construct  some 
reasonable  theory  that  would  explain  their  being  in 
his  attic. 

"No  wonder  I  couldn't  work,"  he  said,  softly,  at 
last.  "Even  the  presence  of  a  fairy  is  distracting. 
You  can  always  tell  a  fairy  by  her  feet." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA. 

SO  many  unheard-of  things  had  taken  place  in 
Tony  Quintard's  attic  on  that  chilly  Christmas 
Eve,  that  he  was  in  a  mood  to  accept  any  un- 
usual visitation  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  Even  a 
pair  of  grey-shod  little  feet  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at  unduly. 

Still,  he  would  like  to  know  who  or  what  those 
dainty  feet  supported.  So,  standing  at  his  table,  and 
addressing  the  unknown  in  the  peremptory  tone  in 
which  a  magician  in  an  extravaganza  commands  his 
familiar  demon  to  "Appear!"  Tony  declaimed: 

"I  know  not  whence  you  came,  nor  by  what  magic 
means  you  gained  entrance  here.  But,  as  genie  of 
this  castle,  I  bid  you — come  forth!"  Nothing  came  of 
this  adjuration,  and  after  a  pause,  he  added,  in  re- 
assuring, everyday  accents:  "I  promise  not  to  eat 
you." 

It  was  then  that  the  curtains  parted,  and  Marjorie 

175 


176  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

blushing  distractedly,  and  in  a  flutter  of  beautiful 
confusion,  stood  in  the  opening  looking  at  him. 

There  was  a  half-smile  on  her  lips,  while  her  wide- 
open  eyes  pleaded  for  mercy. 

"Oh,  my  artistic  soul !  Fairies  and  ministers  of 
grace,  introduce  me!"  exclaimed  Tony,  as  he  removed 
his  turban,  and,  his  face  lighted  up  with  admiration 
and  surprised  delight,  made  her  a  low  bow. 

Marjorie  in  some  confusion  started  to  speak  out. 
Checking  her  with  a  gesture,  Tony  went  on  suddenly  r 

"No,  no!  If  you  have  a  voice,  don't  speak — not 
yet!  Leave  me  to  explain  you."  He  paused  to  collect 
himself.  Then :  "You  came  from  the  Isle  of  Bliss— 
on  a  sunbeam.  One  of  those  bright,  playful,  early- 
morning  sunbeams  that  we  hear  so  much  of,  but 
never  rise  in  time  to  meet.  They  have  the  run  of  my 
attic — for  one  of  the  smallest  hours — while  I  still 
sleep.  That's  it !  A  sunbeam — out  of  the  perfumed 
southland — carried  you  in  very  early  this  morning. 
You  had  just  finished  your  marketing,  and,  as  any 
lady  fairy  naturally  would,  you  called  your  sunbeam, 
as  mortals  call  their  cabs,  to  take  you  home  again. 
But  your  sunbeam  had  been  waiting  for  you  in  the 
vineyard — just  across  from  the  delicatessen  shop. 
Probably  he  had  lingered  too  long  over  the  grapes, 
and,  feeling  in  a  sportive  mood,  he  picked  you  up 


THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA  177 

and  inadvertently  shot   through   my   window-pane." 

Marjorie,  delighted  with  the  fancy,  so  earnestly 
expressed,  broke  into  a  rippling  laugh. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Tony.     "She  laughs!" 

"I  would  laugh  more,"  she  assured  him,  "if  my 
teeth  were  not  chattering.  Won't  you  invite  me  to 
tea?  The  kettle's  boiling." 

"A  thousand  pardons,"  apologized  Tony,  effu- 
sively. "Here  is  a  chair,  the  chair.  Permit  me !  You 
provide  the  feast,  I  the  hospitality." 

She  turned  to  the  chair  and  seated  herself  with 
demure  gravity.  Tony  pushed  the  trunk  in  front  of 
her,  to  serve  as  a  table,  as  he  continued: 

"Accept  a  mortal's  thanks  for  this  delightful 
Christmas  fare.  Pray  join  me.  Ah!  A  fairy  at 
tea !"  he  added,  as  she  proceeded  to  put  tea  into  the 
teapot,  with  a  thoughtful  eye  on  the  steaming  kettle. 
"I  also  beg  to  thank  you  for  trimming  my  humble 
habitation  after  the  fashion  of  the  season,  and  for 
the  scarf!  You  see" — he  indicated  the  muffler 
around  his  neck — "I  wear  your  colors.  And  for 
the  quilt — in  which  I  take  the  liberty  of  wrapping 
you." 

He  brought  the  pink-and-white  quilt  from  the  ham- 
mock and  draped  it  about  her  shoulders.  "I  shall  be 
glad  to  have  you  chatter,  but  not  with  the  cold." 


178  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"You  make  me  feel  very  much  at  home,"  she  de- 
clared. "How  do  you  like  your  tea?" 

He  had  gone  over  to  the  curtain  which  had 
hidden  her  for  so  long,  and  was  bringing  forth 
a  soap-box  for  a  seat.  He  answered  over  his 
shoulder: 

"I  think  I  like  it  strong." 

"But  you  must  not  have  it  strong,"  she  objected. 
"It  isn't  good  for  you.  Men  never  know  what  is 
good  for  them." 

"I'm  sure  this  visitation  of  yours  is  very  good  for 
me,"  smiled  Tony,  taking  his  place  upon  the  soap- 
box across  the  trunk  from  her. 

"Dear  me !"  she  exclaimed  in  a  panic.  "I  forgot 
the  cream." 

"Must  you  have  cream  in  your  tea?"  asked  Tony, 
wonderingly.  Well,  it  might  possibly  be  achieved. 
At  least  he  would  make  a  bold  pretense  of  gratifying 
her  whim.  He  turned  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  and 
in  the  tone  of  lord  of  the  manor,  called: 

"Primrose!" 

"Oh,  please !     I  never  take  cream  in  my  tea." 

"Neither  do  I,"  responded  Tony,  exceedingly  re- 
lieved. "Never  mind,  Primrose!"  he  called  down 
the  trap,  after  the  fashion  he  had  so  happily  assumed, 
then  in  his  own  boyish  way  he  turned  to  the-girl  again. 


THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA  179 

"Neither  do  I  take  cream — in  anything.  It's  too 
fattening.** 

As  he  reseated  himself  and  Marjorie  passed  him  a 
cup  of  tea,  she  remarked,  easily  and  quite  as  if  they 
had  known  each  other  for  years :  "I  like  cream  nice 
*<id  thick  on  big  strawberries,  or  whipped  on  top  of 
chocolate," 

"If  you*U  promise  to  come  again,  I'll  promise  to 
have  strawberries  and  chocolate  and  cream.  Mean- 
while, may  I  offer  you  some  of  my  cake.  I  can  recom- 
mend it.  And — by  the  way — would  you  have  far  to 
ROB*?" 

He  handed  her  a  slice  of  cake,  which  she  took  with 
a  smile  of  thanks. 

"Why  should  I  answer?'*  she  laughed.  "You  ex- 
plained my  coming  so  beautifully." 

"H'm !  Yes  I"  he  answered,  dubiously.  "But — er 
— don't  you  think  I  was  a  trifle  sketchy  as  to  de- 
tails?" 

"You  insist  upon  having  the  details?'*  she  teased. 

"I  entreat.'* 

"Suppose  I  tell  you  a  story?" 

"I  can  think  of  nothing  I  should  like  better,"  he 
said,  helping  himself  to  a  sandwich. 

"Well,  then,"  she  began.    "Once  upon  a  time  a 


180  THE  CINERELLA  MAN 

rich  little  girl  came  from  a  far  country  to  live  alone 
in  a  big  house  with  her  father." 

Tony  half  arose  from  the  soap-box  with  a  start  as 
he  asked  her,  in  ominous  alarm : 

"You're  not  the  rich  girl  from  next  door,  are 
you?" 

"You  must  not  interrupt  like  that,"  reproved  Mar- 
jorie.  "This  rich  girl  was  very  lonely,  so  she  en- 
gaged— a  companion." 

"Oh,  you're  her  companion  ?"  assumed  Tony,  with 
a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  told  you  not  to  interrupt,"  she  reminded  him, 
raising  a  finger  in  playful  rebuke.  "Now,  this  com- 
panion was  a  sort  of  poor  relation.  She  was  also 
much  alone,  and  weary  of  the  world.  One  day,  she 
heard  of  a  young  man  who  lived  at  the  top  of  the 
house  next  door " 

"Sir  Romney-of-the-Long-Tongue  told  the  Veiled 
Princess  about  the  poor  young  man?" 

"The  Veiled  Princess?"  she  repeated,  bewildered. 

"Yes.  That's  what  I  call  the  billionairess  who 
lives  in  the  adjoining  palace.  I  suppose  Romney  told 
her,  and  she  told  you." 

"It  may  have  happened  that  way,"  conceded  Mar- 
jorie.  "But  the  heroine  of  my  story " 

"The  Princess's  companion?" 


THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA  1 8 1 

"Of  course !  Well,  she  never  would  have  known  a 
thing  about  her  neighbor  if  it  had  not  been  for  this : 

'  'He  rules  no  realm !    He's  more  than  king  I 
A  woman's  joy  his  harvesting! 
He  spins  no  song,  he  rears  no  dome ! 
Out  of  his  heart  he  builds  a  home.' ' 

Tony  Quintard's  face  lighted  up  with  flattered  de- 
light as  the  clear,  low  tones  of  the  girl  gave  forth 
these  lines,  to  the  music  set  to  them  by  Albert  Sewall. 
His  voice  shook  as  he  exclaimed: 

"My  lines!  You  sing  them  as  though  you  like 
them !  .  .  .  Romney  told  me  that  the  Princess " 

"Will  you  please  not  interrupt?"  reproved  Mar- 
jorie. 

"Forgive  me.  I  was  just  curious,  you  know.  Rom- 
ney said  the  Princess  liked  the  song.  I — I  wondered 
if  you  did." 

"It  was  the  song  that  gave  the  Princess's  compan- 
ion the  courage  to — to — venture  across  the  roof  from 
her  window  to  yours." 

"Across  the  roof?"  he  cried,  rising  from  his  soap- 
box to  look  out  of  the  window.  "By  Jove !  I  never 
thought  of  that.  You  have  plenty  of  nerve." 

"It  is  perfectly  safe,"  she  laughed.  "Only — a  very 
cold  crossing." 


182  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"You're  wonderful !"  he  assured  her,  admiringly. 

"Oh,  I'm  quite  strong.  See!"  She  held  out  her 
arm,  with  her  small  white  fist  clenched,  laughing. 

"Ah!  A  marvelous  muscle!"  He  touched  her  arm 
shyly  with  the  tip  of  his  finger.  "May  I  have  another 
cup  of  tea,  without  interrupting  your  thrilling  narra- 
tive?" 

"Your  song  was  your  letter  of  credit,"  she  told 
him,  refilling  his  cup. 

"It  was !  I  got  three  dollars  for  it,"  he  laughed. 
"They  give  you  twenty-five  cents  a  line.  I  remember 
wishing  I'd  written  two  or  three  more  lines  while  I 
was  about  it." 

"It  was  worth  twenty-five  dollars  a  line,"  was  her 
indignant  comment. 

"Thank  you,"  he  returned,  rising  to  bow,  and 
gravely  reseating  himself.  "I  wish  you  were  an  edi- 
tor. But — I  have  interrupted  you  again." 

"I  knew  that  anybody  who  could  talk  to  your  heart 
like  that  must  be  awfully  nice " 

"I  am — believe  me,"  Tony  agreed,  laughing. 

"So — well,  I  thought  it  would  be  only  neighborly, 
you  know,  if  I  should — er — call  on  you.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

"Nothing  could  possibly  be  more  neighborly.  It 
is  an  old  and  delightful  custom,  which  I  am  glad  that 


THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA  183 

you,  in  the  kindness  of  your  heart,  have  revived.  But," 
waving  to  the  feast  before  them,  "you  have  gone  the 
custom  one  better,  thank  you." 

"Oh!  These?"  she  smiled,  glancing  at  the  trunk. 
"Well,  I — I  could  not  help  that.  It  was  only  in  the 
way  of — of  looking  after  you.  My  mothering  in- 
stinct, I  suppose." 

"Which  you  got  from  your  mother,  doubtless." 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  and  her  tones  were  a  little 
uneven,  while  a  film  dimmed  her  eyes.  "My  mother 
was — was  such  a — a  sweet  mother !  She  was  always 
looking  after  people  who  hadn't  mothers.  Or  who 
were  ill,  or  sad,  or  lonely!" 

"I  understand,"  he  murmured,  so  low  that  she 
could  barely  catch  the  words. 

"I  knew  you  would,"  was  her  soft  response. 

"I've  been  calling  you  my  fairy  godmother,  you 
know.  I  always  felt  that  I  must  have  one  some- 
where." He  extended  his  hand  across  the  trunk,  as 
he  continued,  smiling:  "Welcome!  I  am  delighted  to 
meet  you  !  But,  to  be  absolutely  authentic,  you  should 
have  a  cap.  Under  the  circumstances,  however,  I 
think  the  hood  you  wear  will  do  very  well.  Probably 
it  is  more  becoming  than  a  cap." 

"The  hood  should,  of  course,  make  me  invisible," 
she  reminded  him. 


1 84  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  am  glad  it  is  not  that  kind  of  a  hood." 

"You  understand,"  she  went  on,  "I  didn't  intend  to 
be  seen.  I  thought  it  would  be  so  jolly — such  a  lark 
— to  have  a  hand  in  your  Christmas,  and  disappear 
without  being  discovered." 

uBut  it's  ever  so  much  better  that  I  discovered 
you,"  he  declared.  "And,  technically  speaking,  it 
should  not  have  been  otherwise.  Fairy  godmothers 
always  appear  to  their  beneficiaries,  and  give  good  ad- 
vice with  their  gifts." 

"But  I  don't  know  you  well  enough  to  give  you 
any  real  gifts,  as  fairy  godmothers  do." 

"Not  real?  These  things  you  have  brought  me  arc 
most  substantial.  And  let  me  teli  you  I  think  it  was 
very  jolly — very  sweet  of  you — to  take  so  much 
trouble." 

"It  has  made  me  very  happy  that  you No  one 

could  have  accepted  these  foolish  little  things  more 
graciously." 

"I  accepted  them  in  the  spirit  in  which  they  we "e 
given." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  thoughtful  expression  for 
a  moment.  Then  she  burst  out,  impulsively : 

"You  are  the  Cinderella-man  !" 

"The  Cinderella-man?"  he  questioned,  with  humor- 
ous surprise. 


THE  FAIRY  SERVES  TEA  185 

"That's  what  I've  been  calling  you  to  myself,"  she 
confessed,  with  a  little  blush.  "I  hope  you  don't 
mind." 

"I  shouldn't  mind  if  you  called  me  'Towser'  I"  he 
declared,  heard]' 


HIS  NEW  SECRETARY. 

THERE  was  a  rather  long  pause,  which  ended 
when  their  eyes  met  and  both  broke  into 
laughter. 

"What  will  you  take  for  your  thoughts?"  quizzed 
Tony. 

"Yours?"  she  flashed  back. 
"Ladies  first!" 

"Well,  I  was  thinking  that  we  are  going  to  be  good 
friends." 

"Thank  you,"  he  responded,  heartily:  "There's  no 
doubt  about  it!" 

"Now  you  know  my  thoughts,  it  is  your  turn,"  she 
reminded  him.    "Pay  up !" 

"I  was  thinking,"   he  rejoined,   echoing  her  tone, 
"that  I'm  glad  you  are  not  the  Veiled  Princess." 

She  looked  at  him  with  surprised  concern.     "You 
dislike  princesses  so  much?" 
"I  do,  outside  of  books."    He  was  emphatic.  "Rich 
186 


HIS  NEW  SECRETARY  187 

girls  in  the  flesh  are  conceited,  empty-headed  bores!" 
he  added  warmly.  "And  their  families  are  worse.  If 
a  man  pays  a  princess  the  slightest  bit  of  attention, 
her  family  immediately  suspects  he  is  after  her 
money." 

"Ah!  You  have  had  an  unfortunate  experience?" 
Marjorie's  blue  eyes  were  downcast. 

"I?  Never!  I  never  paid  any  attention  to  prin- 
cesses— and  I  never,  never  will!" 

Marjorie  glanced  at  him  from  beneath  her  sweep- 
ing lashes.  She  liked  the  positive  opinions  of  this 
plain-spoken  young  man.  And  yet — she  wished  he 
were  not  so  sure  that  he  would  not  like  at  least  one 
rich  girl. 

"I'm  the  last  one  in  the  world  to  take  the  part  of 
princesses,"  she  declared.  "But  I  do  think  you  are 
rather  hard  on  them." 

"But,  consider!  Does  a  poor  man — a  poor  work- 
ing man,  in  particular — want  to  ruin  his  life  by  marry- 
ing a  millionairess  ?" 

"How  can  she  ruin  his  life?" 

"In  a  dozen  ways,"  he  rejoined.  "First  of  all,  he 
couldn't  expect  her  to  live  as  he  has  been  used  to 
living.  That  would  mean  that  he  must  accept  assis- 
tance— pecuniary  assistance — from  either  the  prin- 
cess herself  or  her  family.  That  would  be  the  death 


188  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

of  his  self-respect.  Second,  it  would  kill  his  ambition. 
There  would  no  longer  be  the  actual,  biting  necessity 
to  work,  and  necessity  is  a  great  spur  to  ambition. 
Third,  without  ambition,  without  work,  he  would 
become  a  most  unhappy  wretch.  Fourth,  all  the  joy 
of  not  knowing  what  is  coming  next — the  filip  of 
speculation — would  be  removed  from  his  life.  Fifth, 
and,  for  the  time  being,  the  last — he  never  would 
have  what  I  imagine  to  be  the  most  profound  of 
satisfactions — the  privilege  of  taking  care  of  a 
woman  all  by  himself — working  for  her,  struggling 
for  her,  suffering  for  her." 

Tony  had  unconsciously  become  more  and  more 
earnest  as  he  thus  expounded  his  convictions.  At  the 
end,  as  he  realized  that  he  had  been  somewhat  ora- 
torical, he  smiled  a  little  in  half  apology.  Neverthe- 
less, he  was  pleased  to  see  that  she  looked  at  him  in 
sober  approval. 

"I — I  agree  with  you,"  she  said,  seriously. 

"I  was  sure  you  would." 

"But  suppose,"  she  ventured,  "just  suppose,  you 
know,  that  you  should  happen  to— run  across  a  prin- 
cess who  cared  nothing  about  money — only  the  things 
you  speak  of,  and — and  that  you  should  like  her  very 
much " 

"My  dear  fairy  godmother,"  he  interrupted,  laugh- 


HIS  NEW  SECRETARY  189 

ing  lugubriously,  "such  a  princess  doesn't  exist — 
outside  of  a  book.9" 

"I  said  'just  suppose!*  You'd  pay  some  attention 
to  her?  You  would  not  turn  up  your  nose  at  her, 
would  you?" 

"No !"  he  laughed.  *Td  be  fearfully  polkc  to  her." 

"Yon  might  even  grow  to — to  like  her?" 

"Certainly.  I  might  even  grow  to  be  quite  fond 
of  her." 

"Well,  then,9*  she  announced,  1  "jpmpiianflyj  "the 
Veiled  Princess  next  door  is  like  that." 

"Impossible!  I  can't  believe  it.  It's  just  your 
loyalty  to  her." 

"No,  indeed.  I  can  prove  it  to  you.  Let  me  bring 
her  to  call  some  day." 

He  started  from  his  seat  in  alarm,  hands  raised 
in  protest. 

"Please — please  don't !  I  really  should  be  terribly 
put  out.  I'll  take  your  word  for  it.  I'fl  believe  what- 
ever you  wish  me  to  believe " 

"I  think  yon  might  be  a  trifle  more  hospitable.'9 

She  said  this  with  a  pout  that  was  as  charming  as 
everything  else  she  did. 

"It  isn't  that  I'm  inhospitable,"  he  explained.  Tin 
cowardly.  I'm  more  afraid  of  a  princess  than  I  should 
be  of  a  polar  bear.99 


1 90  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Anyway,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand,  "you're 
not  afraid  of  me." 

He  took  her  hand,  but  with  regretful  raising  of 
his  brows. 

"You  are  not  going — so  soon?" 

"I  must.    I  have  my — my  duties." 

"I'd  forgotten !  Then,  it  wouldn't  be  kind  in  me 
to  keep  you.  By  the  way,  I  think  this  belongs  to  you." 
He  picked  up  the  rosette  from  the  table.  "I'd  like 
to  keep  it.  It's  been  a  source  of  inspiration  to  me." 

She  laughingly  acknowledged  her  loss. 

He  pointed  to  the  manuscript  on  the  table.  Then 
he  picked  up  a  sheet  of  it  and  read : 

"Love,  whose  feet  are  shod  with  light, 
Lost  this  ribbon  in  her  flight. 
Rosette  of  the  twilight  sky, 
Waft  to  me  Love's  lullaby!" 

The  girl  listened  and,  when  he  had  finished,  he 
saw  that  she  was  holding  out  the  violet  rosette  to  him. 

"Keep  it — in  payment  for  the  verse." 

"You  like  it?"  he  asked,  very  much  flattered. 

"Ever  so  much.  Any  one  who  can  write  songs 
like  that  should  write  an  opera.  Why  don't  you  write 
an  opera?  There's  a  lot  of  money  in  operas.  Did 


HIS  NEW  SECRETARY  191 

you  know  they  are  offering  a  prize  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  an  opera,  at  this  very  moment?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  laughed,  as  he  picked  up  his 
manuscript  and  shook  it  at  her  playfully.  "This  is 
the  book  that's  going  to  win  the  prize." 

"Oh!  Oh!  Really?"  Her  eyes  widened  with 
surprise.  "May  I  see  it?  May  I?" 

"Of  course."  He  handed  the  pile  of  written  pages 
to  her.  "You  don't  have  to  read  it,  you  know." 

"How  nearly  is  it  finished?" 

"Oh,  I'll  have  it  done  in  time!"  he  assured  her. 
"Can  you  read  my  handwriting?" 

"It  15  rather  scriggly,"  she  admitted.  "But  I  can 
make  it  out."  Then,  as  with  a  practical  thought,  she 
continued:  "You  know,  you  should  have  this  type- 
written." 

"I  suppose  it  should  be.    But " 

"I  have  a  typewriter — "  she  interrupted,  quick* 

"I  don't  think  I  could  manage  one." 

"But  7  can.      .      .     Let  me  type  your  man' 
for  you?" 

"That  would  be  an  imposition." 

"I'd  love  to  do  it,"  she  insisted,  brush!' 
objections.    "And  I'd  take  awfully  goo' 
manuscript." 

"It  would  be  splendid  of  you  to 


1 92  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Then  you  will?" 

He  took  the'  manuscript  from  her  and  lovingly 
turned  over  the  sheets  while  she  looked  on. 

"It  would  be  a  wonderful  favor,"  he  answered,  "if 
you  will.  All  but  the  last  two  pages.  That  will  be 
up  to  the  end  of  act  two." 

"And  I'll  finish  the  rest  as  you  give  to  rne." 

You'll  be  helping  me  tremendously,"  he  continued 
handing  her  the  manuscript. 

"It  will  make  me  happy  if  I  can  help  you  even  the 
least  little  bit."  The  color  rose  in  her  cheeks  as  she 
spoke.  She  finished  hurriedly:  "Now  I  must  go." 
She  turned  to  the  window. 

"Just  a  moment!"  protested  Tony. 

"Yes?" 

He  picked  up  a  broom  from  a  corner  of  the  room 
and  waved  it  significantly. 

"I  want  to  sweep  the  snow  off — to  make  a  path 
for  you  across  the  roof." 

Before  she  could  remonstrate  he  had  forced  open 
the  window  with  a  tug,  in  spite  of  the  frost,  and  had 
climbed  out  to  the  roof,  where  he  went  to  work  in- 
.dustriously  with  the  broom.  In  a  moment  he  opened 
the  window  and  peered  into  the  room. 

"May  I  trouble  you  for  the  salt?" 

"Salt?"  she  repeated,  puzzled.    Then  as  she  saw 


THE  NEW  SECRETARY  193 

what  he  wanted  it  for,  she  laughed  and  took  a  salt- 
shaker  from  the  trunk,  saying,  as  she  gave  it  to  him : 
"You  are  so  nice  and  thoughtful." 

"There's  no  danger  of  your  slipping  now,"  he  said 
as  he  came  into  the  room  and  closed  the  window. 
"Oh,  the  basket !  Why  didn't  I  think  of  putting  you 
in  it  and  sleighing  you  across?" 

"Thank  you.  I'd  rather  walk,"  she  laughed,  pos- 
sessing herself  of  the  manuscript,  and  holding  out  her 
hand  to  him  in  farewell. 

"Now  that  you've  found  the  way,"  smiled  Tony, 
"you'll  come  again?" 

"I  must!"  she  reminded  him,  simply.  "You've  en- 
gaged me  as  your  secretary." 

"That  was  clever  of  me.  When  shall  I  see  you 
again?" 

"That  will  depend  entirely  upon  the  Princess.  I'll 
come  my  first  afternoon  out.  She  may  let  me  off  to- 
morrow. You  see,  it  will  be  a  holiday." 

"A  holiday!"  He  hesitated.  Then  he  felt  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  "I  wonder  if — you  would  be  good 
enough  to  accept — this  little  Christmas  present?" 
He  was  like  a  boy  as  he  withdrew  his  fingers  from  the 
pocket,  brought  forth  the  gold  chain  and  locket  that 
Primrose  had  found  in  the  drawer,  and  dropped  it 
into  her  palm. 


i94  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Her  eyes  lighted  up  with  wonder.  "It's  very  beau- 
tiful and  old,"  she  said,  softly. 

"It  is  a  hundred  years  old,"  he  told  her.  "Perhaps 
more  than  that.  It  has  a  picture  of  my — my  real 
mother  in  it." 

"Your  mother?  Oh !"  holding  it  out  to  him.  "I 
couldn't  take  anything  so  precious  1" 

"That's  just  why  I'm  giving  it  to  you,"  he  said, 
gently.  "Because  it  is  precious." 

She  touched  the  locket  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
as  it  lay  in  her  other  hand.  Without  looking  at  him, 
she  spoke  in  the  manner  of  one  making  a  dear  and 
solemn  pledge:  "I'll  take  it  and  keep  it — for  you" — 
she  paused.  "So  long  as  we  are  friends." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  window. 

"Good  night  I"  said  he,  as  he  helped  her  over  the 
sill.  "Good  night,  little  fairy  godmother!" 

She  followed  the  path  he  had  made  for  her  through 
the  snow.  Over  her  shoulder  she  called  to  him: 

"Good  night,  Cinderella-man!  Merry  Christmas!" 

"Merry  Christmas,"  he  called  after  her,  and  stood 
there  watching  until  she  disappeared  around  a  chim- 
ney. Then  he  closed  the  window  and,  pulling  up  a 
chair  to  the  table,  picked  up  his  brier  pipe,  filled  it 
with  tobacco,  and  smoked  thoughtfully  long  after  the 
room  became  quite  dark. 


"Cood-by,  Cinderella-man!' 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  FEW  CHANGES. 

THE  old  year  was  dying.  It  was  a  week  after 
the  afternoon  on  which  the  fairy  godmother 
served  tea  to  Tony  in  his  attic,  finishing  the 
entertainment  by  taking  away  two  acts  of  his  opera 
so  that  she  might  transcribe  them  in  typewriting. 

In  that  week  a  great  change  had  come  over  the 
aspect  of  Tony's  domicile.  The  window  had  been 
washed,  for  one  thing.  That  was  something  that  had 
not  happened  to  the  window  in  ages.  So  long  as 
enough  light  penetrated  the  glass  to  enable  him  to 
write  and  he  could  make  out  the  time  by  the  church 
clock  when  he  looked  out,  Tony  tacitly  assumed  that 
the  window  was  clean  enough. 

But  when  a  certain  young  lady  insisted  that  the 
panes  should  be  washed  and  polished  forthwith,  Tony 
took  counsel  of  Primrose,  and  that  faithful  individual 
applied  himself  to  the  task  so  efficiently  that  there 
was  a  noticeable  increase  in  the  light  of  the  apart- 
ment while  daylight  lasted. 

195 


196  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Other  improvements  there  were,  too.  New  chintz 
curtains  formed  lambrequins  at  the  window,  while 
other  curtains  of  the  same  pattern  concealed  the 
Gloucester  hammock  and  the  washstand,  and  replaced 
the  old  calico  drapery  that  had  hung  in  front  of  the 
recess  used  as  a  wardrobe. 

The  big,  battered  old  trunk  was  still  in  its  old  place 
near  the  head  of  the  stairs,  but  had  been  so  trans- 
mogrified that  it  hardly  knew  itself.  A  daintily 
trimmed  couch  cover  enveloped  it,  and  two  embroid- 
ered sofa  cushions  crowned  it. 

Moreover,  the  attic  was  fairly  warm,  although  the 
weather  was  just  as  cold  as  it  had  been  on  Christmas 
Eve.  But  a  new  oil  stove,  glittering  and  very  pleas- 
ant to  look  at,  stood  between  the  trunk  and  Tony's 
writing  table,  making  him  independent  of  the  wretch- 
ed little  register  in  the  floor  which  never  attended 
adequately  to  its  business.  Just  now,  however,  the  oil 
stove  was  not  alight. 

A  comfortable  camp-chair,  a  folding  card-table — 
just  the  thing  for  a  bachelor's  quarters — and  other 
little  comforts,  decorative  and  useful,  were  about  the 
room,  all  silently  speaking  of  the  thoughtfulness  of 
somebody  who  knew  instinctively  what  to  do — and 
who,  therefore,  was  necessarily  a  woman. 

Primrose — in   whom   there    was    no    observable 


A  FEW  CHANGES  197 

change,  by  the  way — was  in  the  attic  alone.  He 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  new  curtains  very 
much.  He  went  from  one  to  the  other  giv- 
ing them  a  twitch  this  way  and  that,  and  put- 
ting them  into  certain  folds  that  he  considered  de- 
sirable. 

A  tapping  at  the  door  in  the  trap  that  sounded  as  if 
it  were  done  with  a  walking-stick,  broke  off  Prim- 
rose's musings  and  made  him  shuffle  hurriedly  down 
the  stairs. 

Directly  afterward  he  came  up  again,  following 
a  man  in  a  fur  coat.  It  was  Romney  Evans.  A  stick 
in  his  hand  evidently  had  been  used  to  demand  ad- 
mittance. 

"So  Mr.  Quintard  is  out?"  were  the  first  words  of 
the  caller  as  he  reached  the  top  of  the  attic  stairs,  a 
little  out  of  breath. 

"Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Quintard  said  to  me,  as  he  went 
down  the  stairs:  'I'm  goin'  out  for  a  breath  of  air,' 
he  says.  That  means,  knowin'  Mr.  Quintard's  habits 
as  I  do  me  own- — that  he's  not  likely  to  be  back  before 
about  half-past  three." 

Romney  Evans  looked  at  his  watch,  while  Prim- 
rose furtively  glanced  through  the  window  at  the 
church  clock.  His  manner  clearly  showed  that  he 
wished  the  visitor  had  not  come. 


i98  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"In  that  case,"  remarked  Romney,  "I  haven't  long 
to  wait." 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  Of  course,  there's  no  tellin'. 
He  might  go  for  a  longer  walk  than  usual.  He's 
been  workin'  so  hard  that  he  needs  exercise.  When 
he  does  come  back  he'll  be  wantin'  to  go  right  to 
work  again." 

Romney  Evans  laughed  at  the  too  obvious  anxiety 
of  the  old  man  to  send  him  away  without  seeing  Quin- 
tard. 

"It's  no  use,  Primrose.  You  can't  get  rid  of  me. 
I'm  going  to  wait.  I've  come  here  to  see  Mr.  Quin- 
tard,  and  here  I  remain  till  he  comes." 

He  plumped  himself  into  the  camp-chair,  crossed 
his  knees,  and  looked  up  at  Primrose  with  an  exasper- 
ating smile. 

"I  wasn't  thinkin'  of  such  a  thing  as  gettin'  rid  of 
you,  sir,"  protested  Primrose. 

"Then  we  might  as  well  dismiss  it  as  a  topic  of 
conversation,"  returned  Romney,  adding,  as  he 
waved  his  stick  about  the  room:  "Quite  a  metamor- 
phosis!" 

This  last  word  was  quite  over  Primrose's  head. 
He  did  not  care  to  acknowledge  that  he  did  not  un- 
derstand its  meaning,  however,  so  he  replied,  sagely : 

"You  may  be  right,  sir.     But  that — in  a  way  of 


A  FEW  CHANGES  199 

speakin' — is  a  matter  of  opinion,  as  Mr.  Quintard 
would  say.'* 

"There  can  be  but  one  opinion — Mr.  Quintard  has 
struck  it  rich." 

Romney  made  this  statement  tentatively,  looking 
hard  at  the  old  man  the  while. 

"Yes,  sir — Oh,  yes,  indeed,  sir,"  spluttered  Prim- 
rose. "He  has  had  a  bit  o'  luck.  Still  you  know, 
sir " 

The  roar  of  the  Great  She-Bear  came  from  below, 
as  if  she  were  uncomfortably  near.  The  old  man 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  and  looked  ap- 
prehensively in  the  direction  of  the  stairs.  He  had 
sound  reason  for  expecting  trouble  from  that  quarter. 

"Primrose!  Come  down  out  of  there!  Hear 
me?" 

The  head  and  shoulders  of  the  grizzly-faced  land- 
lady appeared  above  the  level  of  the  floor,  and  she 
was  shaking  one  of  her  big  fists  at  him.  Before  Prim- 
rose could  answer,  and  while  he  was  still  feebly  grop- 
ing for  words  that  might  conceivably  present  his  case 
in  a  favorable  light,  she  caught  sight  of  Romney. 

"Huh!  I  didn't  know  the  gentleman  was  here," 
she  growled  apologetically. 

Romney  rose  and  bowed,  while  Primrose,  believ- 
ing he  saw  an  opening,  explained  timidly: 


200  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  was  showin'  him  up.  He's  waitin'  to  see  Mr. 
Quintard." 

"Well,  if  he  is,"  snarled  the  Great  She-Bear,  turn- 
ing upon  her  man-of-all-work,  "you  are  not  waiting 
to  see  Mr.  Quintard,  are  you?" 

"No,  madam,"  interposed  Romney.  "He  was  en- 
tertaining me." 

"If  there's  any  entertaining  to  be  done,  /'//  do  it!" 
she  returned,  shortly.  Then,  once  more  addressing 
herself  to  Primrose  with  her  characteristic  gentle- 
ness, she  threatened:  "Let  me  catch  you  here  again, 
you  lump,  and  I'll  take  the  broom  to  you." 

"It  was  my  fault,"  interposed  Romney.  "I'm 
afraid  I " 

"No,  it  wasn't  anybody's  fault  but  his  own,"  de- 
clared the  Great  She-Bear,  flatly.  "You  don't  know 
what  a  trial  he  is,  the  old  reprobate!  Potterin'  and 
dawdlin',  and  takin'  it  easy,  when  he's  got  his  work 
waitin'." 

Primrose  tried  to  express  contrition  in  his  counte- 
nance. Unfortunately,  he  had  the  kind  of  face 
which  seemed  to  sag  down  and  become  downright 
aggressive  in  its  feebleness  when  he  wanted  to  be  pro- 
pitiatory. To  a  creature  of  the  Great  She-Bear's 
temperament  it  was  unbearably  aggravating.  She 
went  at  him  fiercely. 


A  FEW  CHANGES  201 

"Don't  stand  there  with  your  mouth  open !  Noth- 
in's  goin'  to  fall  into  it!  Clear  out,  and  be  quick 
about  it!  You've  got  the  hall  to  sweep,  the  bannis- 
ters to  wipe  down,  and — mind ! — when  you  have  that 
done,  you'll  sift  the  ashes!" 

Primrose  groaned,  and  with  a  feeble  "Excuse  me, 
sir,"  to  Romney,  plunged  desperately  down  the  stairs 
out  of  sight. 

"I  ain't  seen  you  since  the  day  you  paid  Mr.  Quin- 
tard's  rent,"  remarked  the  Great  She-Bear  to  Rom- 
ney, in  an  effort  at  polite  conversation. 

"That's  my  misfortune,"  he  returned  with  a  bow. 

"You've  been  here  since — ain't  you?" 

"I've  called  once  or  twice." 

"The  way  he  has  this  place  all  fussed  up,  beats 
me."  Then  with  a  cunning  look  at  Romney:  "I  guess 
you  give  him  the  money." 

"I  don't  give  Mr.  Quintard  money,"  replied  Rom- 
ney emphatically,  seating  himself  in  his  camp- 
chair. 

He  meant  it  as  an  intimation  that  he  would  prefer 
to  be  alone,  but  the  Great  She-Bear  had  come  up  to 
the  attic  to  find  out  something,  and  she  was  not  the 
woman  to  be  turned  aside  by  mere  reticence. 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  a  man  as  poor  as  he  is  can 
buy  better  curtains  than  I  have  in  my  best  rooms," 


202  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

she  complained.  "And,  what's  more,  I'd  like  to 
know  how  these  things  got  up  here." 

Romney  drew  out  his  watch,  studied  it,  and  looked 
annoyed. 

"I  generally  know  what  comes  into  this  house,"  she 
went  on.  "All  these  changes — new  curtains,  oil  stove 
and  such — have  a  queer  look  to  me.  There's 
somethin'  very  queer  about  it.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

As  she  plumped  herself  squarely  in  front  of  Rom- 
ney, to  compel  an  answer,  he  was  obliged  to  say  some- 
thing. So  he  repeated  her  own-  word,  interroga- 
tively: 

"Queer?" 

"Queer!  Yes!  That's  what  I  said!"  she  re- 
joined, emphatically.  "All  this  here  ain't  like  a  man. 
Now,  if  a  woman  had  this  attic,  she  might  be  puttin' 
up  curtains  and  so  on.  But  for  a  man  to  do  it — well, 
it  would  be  queer,  as  I  said." 

She  might  have  said  much  more  along  the  same  line 
had  not  her  wrathful  eye  suddenly  lighted  on  the 
chiffon  scarf  at  the  end  of  the  table.  She  glanced  at 
Romney,  but  he  was  looking  another  way.  Slyly 
she  picked  up  the  scarf,  smelled  it,  and  raised  her 
eyes  suspiciously,  muttering:  "Scented,  of  course!" 
Then,  as  Romney's  attention  was  still  diverted  from 


A  FEW  CHANGES  203 

her,  she  slipped  the  scarf  under  her  apron  with  a  leer 
of  triumph. 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  a  relation  of  his?"  she  broke 
out  again.  "A  rich  relation,  maybe?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  shortly. 

"Could  you  be  a  detective,  I  wonder?" 

"No." 

"You  don't  talk  much,  do  you?" 

"No." 

Finding  Romney  impossible  from  a  conversational 
point  of  view,  she  tried  a  hew  tack,  as  she  moved  over 
to  the  stairs : 

"I  guess  you'll  be  waitin'  for  him?" 

"Yes." 

The  Great  She-Bear  was  on  the  stairs  by  this  time, 
half  concealed  in  the  trap.  From  this  forum  she  de- 
livered her  ultimatum,  swiftly  disappearing  as  soon 
as  the  words  were  uttered: 

"Well,  you  can  say  to  him,  for  me,  that  if  he  can 
live  up  here  like  a  dude,  he  can  pay  my  rent  in  ad- 
vance— it  will  be  due  on  Monday !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM. 

"  WIT  7HEW!"  breathed  Romney.  "Ah!  There's 
\ \  the  church  clock  striking  three.  I  won- 
der how  long  Tony  will " 

He  had  risen  from  the  camp-chair  and  strolled  to 
the  window,  stretching  his  arms  as  he  went.  One 
glance  through  the  panes  and  he  started  back,  looking 
for  a  place  to  hide  himself.  The  curtain  concealing 
the  hammock  and  washstand  was  the  obvious  retreat 
for  him,  and  he  stepped  behind  it  just  as  the  case- 
ment was  pushed  open. 

Marjorie  Caner's  pretty  face,  framed  by  the  "lib- 
erty" hood,  came  into  the  room  as  she  looked  cau- 
tiously around.  Satisfied  that  there  was  no  one  there, 
she  stepped  inside  and  closed  the  window. 

Under  one  arm  was  a  large,  bulky  envelope,  and 
in  her  other  hand  she  carried  a  small  basket.  Trip- 
ping to  the  table,  she  laid  the  large  envelope  there 
and  put  the  basket  on  the  floor.  Then  she  went  to 

204 


ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM        205 

the  top  of  the  stairs  and  listened.  Wih  a  little  laugh, 
she  went  back  to  the  table,  found  a  match,  and  lighted 
the  oil  stove. 

"There!  It  will  be  comfortable  in  here  by  the 
time  he  comes.  Let  me  see !  What  else  is  there  to 
do?" 

Romney  stepped  out  from  behind  the  curtain  and 
confronted  her  in  inscrutable  silence. 

"Oh,  Romney!"  was  her  startled  exclamation. 
Then,  placing  a  hand  over  her  heart  as  if  to  control 
its  throbbing,  she  continued,  in  a  relieved  tone:  "How 
you  frightened  me !" 

"So,  young  lady,"  he  returned,  sternly.  "This  is 
what  you  are  up  to  ?" 

"Don't  be  cross  with  me,  Romney!"  she  begged. 
"I'm  only  doing  what  you  wanted  me  to  do — looking 
after  Tony." 

He  broke  into  a  laugh.  Waving  his  hand  about 
the  room,  he  remarked,  dryly: 

"You're  making  a  thorough  job  of  it,  aren't  you?" 

"Oh,  no !"  she  assured  him.  "There's  so  much 
more  that  I  could  do.  But  I  don't  dare.  He  only  let 
me  put  up  the  curtains  because  I  said  I  couldn't  stand 
the  place  without  them." 

"He  doesn't  think  you  buy  them,  does  he?" 

"No,  no!     Isn't  it  too  dreadful?     I  have  to  fib 


2o6  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

about  everything.  Oh,  Romney!  I  tell  him  they're 
all  my  personal  possessions,  stored  in  the  loft  next 
door,  and  that  it's  so  much  better  to  use  them,  because 
they'd  only  be  gathering  dust !" 

"And  he  believes  you?" 

"Every  word  I  say,"  she  returned,  with  wide-open, 
penitent  eyes.  "I'd  be  terribly  ashamed,  only  it's  all 
for  his  comfort — like  this  stove.  He  thinks  I  bor- 
rowed it  from  myself.  So  I  did — but  I  bought  it. 
Isn't  it  cute?" 

"I've  never  seen  anything  so  cute  in  all  my  life," 
assented  Romney,  gravely.  "It  gives  out  real  heat. 
It  looks  as  if  one  might  even  cook  on  it,"  he  added, 
as  he  removed  his  overcoat  and  dropped  it  on  the 
camp-chair. 

"One  does  cook  on  it,"  laughed  Marjorie,  all  in 
a  flutter.  "Oh,  Romney  1  it's  really  too  wonder- 
ful." 

"I  should  say  it  is,"  agreed  the  lawyer.  "Tell  me 
all  about  it!" 

"Well,  every  day  I  come  across  the  roof  at  about 
half-past  three,  and  bring  what  I  call  my  'tea'  with 
me.  Of  course,  it's  really  for  Tony.  There's,  oh, 
lots  of  things !  Good  and  nourishing,  you  know  1  I 
must  fatten  him  up  I  After  tea,  just  before  I  go,  I 
make  him  hot  little  messes  for  his  dinner.  I  just  love 


ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM        207 

to  cook !  And  sometimes  it  smells  so  good  that  I 
wish  I  could  stay  and  have  dinner  with  him." 

"No  doubt!"  he  commented  blandly.  "How  does 
he  take  these  ministrations  of  yours?"  x 

"Oh,  in  the  sweetest,  jolliest  way!"  she  answered, 
enthusiastically.  "So — so  matter-of-fact!  .  .  .  You 
know,  I'm  just  his  fairy  godmother." 

"His  what?" 

"His  fairy  godmother — who  pops  in  and  out!  To- 
day I've  brought  him  the  typewritten  copy  of  his 
opera.  It's  done — finished!  All  but  the  editing — 
touching  it  up,  you  know.  And — oh,  Romney ! — it's 
too  beautiful!  I  love  every  word  of  it!" 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  prejudiced." 

"No,  indeed  I'm  not.  Grayson,  father's  secretary 
— who  did  the  typewriting  for  me,  on  the  sly — says 
it's  better  than  'The  Merry  Widow !'  You  know,  it 
has  some  awfully  cunning  jokes  in  it — all  mixed  up 
in  the  dearest  way  with  the  romance.  The  Cinder- 
ella-man has  a  way  of  making  what  I'd  call  tender 
jokes.  They  make  you  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same 
time.  And  it's  all  so  like  him — so — so — oh!  I  don't 
know  how  to  describe  it !" 

She  trailed  off  into  rapturous  incoherence.  Words 
failed  her  to  express  just  how  admirable  this  opera 
of  Tony  Quintard's  was.  She  could  only  gasp  and 


208  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

wave  her  hands  helplessly,  with  a  wistful  smile  at 
Romney. 

He  gazed  at  her  thoughtfully  in  silence  for  a  few 
moments.  At  last,  still  regarding  her  with  the  steady, 
kindly  look  that  she  had  come  to  know — and  some- 
times dread — he  said,  slowly: 

"I  think  I  understand." 

In  a  flash  she  knew  what  he  was  thinking.  Her 
wistful  smile  changed  to  a  look  of  alarm.  She 
turned  away  from  him,  head  averted.  Sinking  down 
upon  the  cushioned  trunk,  she  murmured  plead- 
ingly : 

"Why  —  why,  Romney !  You  —  you  —  couldn't 
think " 

"Well,  my  dear,  I  only  hope  this  isn't  going  to  be 
more  than  I  bargained  for,"  he  answered,  bending 
down. 

She  snatched  at  his  fingers  and  drew  him  closer  to 
her.  Then  she  placed  her  hot  cheek  against  his  hand, 
as  she  whispered: 

"Oh,  Romney!  I've  never  been  so — so  happy" — 
she  paused.  "And  so — miserable!" 

The  sobs  had  to  come !  In  a  tempest  they  broke 
forth,  while  she  continued  to  cling  to  the  hand  of 
one  whom  she  felt  was  her  only  friend  in  the  great 
city — the  one  person  who  understood  her !  Her  hood 


ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM        209 

had  fallen  back,  and  he  passed  a  comforting  hand 
over  her  bright  hair  as  he  told  her  softly  that  there 
was  nothing  to  cry  about. 

"It  is  quite  possible  that  your  Cinderella-man  is 
just  as  much  in  love  with  you  as  you  are  with  him. 
But,  under  the  circumstances — as  any  gentleman 
would — he  refrains  from  declaring  himself." 

She  shook  her  head  and  as  she  dried  her  eyes  reso- 
lutely answered,  with  forced  calmness : 

"No,  it  isn't  that.  He  doesn't  care!  I  can  tell. 
He's  as  sweet  and  nice  as  he  can  be — as  a  brother 
might  be.  But  he's  so — so  impersonal.  He  never 
really  sees  me !  Sometimes  he  doesn't  realize  that  I 
am  here.  I'm  like  a  puppy-dog  to  him.  I'm  sure  he 
never  thinks  of  me  when  I'm  away.  Of  course,  his 
mind  is  all  on  his  opera.  I  understand  that.  Only — 
I  wish " 

"Tony's  probably  too  sure  of  your  service,"  sug- 
gested Romney.  "Geniuses  have  a  way  of  taking 
things  for  granted.  You  must  make  him  anxious." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that." 

"You  must ! — just  a  wee  bit !"  he  persisted. 

"But " 

"Now,  he  expects  you  here  this  afternoon  prompt- 
ly at  half-past  three  ?" 

"Yes.     I  never  was  late  but  once.     I  sent  Celeste 


210  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

for  some  strawberries  for  him,  and  she  was  fearfully 
slow.  I  heard  him  whistling  for  me." 

"Oh!  He  whistles  for  you?"  And  Romney  whis- 
tled softly  himself. 

"Ye-es,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly.  "I  told  him 
he  should  whistle  if  ever  he  wanted  me  outside  of  the 
regular  time." 

"I  see !    You  were  ahead  of  time  to-day." 

"I  couldn't  wait." 

"You  must  wait  this  afternoon,"  he  told  her,  firm- 
ly. "Keep  him  waiting." 

"Oh,  Romney!"  she  protested. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you.  You  must.  Here  1  Take  your 
basket  and  your  manuscript  with  you,  and — get  out ! 
Come!" 

He  gathered  up  the  basket  and  large  envelope,  and 
gave  her  his  hand  to  assist  her  from  the  trunk. 

"You  really  think  I  should  go?"  falteringly. 

"Most  certainly.  And  you  must  not  come  back 
until  at  least  ten  minutes  after  I  give  the  signal." 

"You  won't  forget?  You'll  surely  give  me  the 
signal?"  she  asked,  with  sudden  misgiving,  taking  the 
basket  and  envelope  from  him. 

"You  may  depend  upon  me.  Now,  let's  decide  what 
the  signal  shall  be.  Usually,  in  plays  and  stories,  it 
is  a  light  placed  in  the  window.  But  that's  not  practi- 


ROMNEY  ISSUES  A  DICTUM        211 

cal  here.  What  else  can  I  do?  I  might  throw  some- 
thing out  of  the  window." 

"No,"  she  objected.  "I  won't  have  you  messing 
up  my  nice,  clean  roof.  Nothing  but  rain  or  snow  is 
allowed  out  there." 

"How  would  it  do  if  I  managed  to  hang  one  of  my 
best  handkerchiefs  out  of  the  window?  This  one?" 

He  took  a  gaily-bordered  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket  and  waved  it  playfully  before  her  eyes. 

"That  would  do,"  she  agreed.  "Oh!  There's  a 
door  banging  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house.  I'm 
sure  it's  Tony.  He  always  bangs  the  front  door!" 

"Very  well,  then !    Out  with  you !" 

He  helped  her  through  to  the  roof,  taking  the 
basket  until  she  was  safely  outside.  Then  he  gave 
it  to  her  again  and  told  her  to  hurry  away.  But  she 
stopped  to  warn  him : 

"Remember!  He — he  doesn't  know  who  I  really 
am.  I'm  so  afraid  that,  if  he  should  find  out " 

"Away!  Away!"  was  all  that  Romney  answered 
as  he  closed  the  window. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT. 

ROMNEY  EVANS  was  apparently  staring  out 
through  the  frosty  panes,  when  the  door  of 
the  stairway  in  the  trap  closed  with  a  bang 
and  Tony  Quintard  came  bounding  up  the  stairs. 

Romney  turned.  He  pretended  not  to  notice  the 
disappointment  in  Tony's  face,  but  he  was  glad  to 
see  it  there. 

"Hello,  Tony!" 

Tony  took  the  proffered  hand  and  shook  it  per- 
functorily. His  answering  "Hello!"  was  decidedly 
lifeless,  too.  He  stared  about  as  if  looking  for  some 
one  else. 

"You  don't  seem  overjoyed  to  see  me!"  Romney 
told  him  with  a  reproachful  smile. 

"Why,  yes,  I  am — yes,  I  am !"  was  the  preoccu- 
pied response,  as  Tony  took  off  his  overcoat.  "I'm 
— er — awfully  glad  to  see  you  1  Sit  down — sit  down, 
won't  you?" 

212 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  2 13 

He  went  over  to  the  window,  overcoat  and  hat  in 
hand,  and  peered  through  the  glass. 

"No,  I  won't  sit  down,"  returned  Romney,  secretly 
grinning  his  satisfaction  at  Tony's  perturbation.  "I'm 
not  going  to  stay.  I  only  dropped  in  to  ask  if  you 
hadn't  changed  your  mind  about  the  Princess." 

"In  what  way?"  asked  Tony,  throwing  his  hat  and 
coat  upon  the  trunk,  holding  his  hands  over  the  oil 
stove.  "In  what  way  do  you  mean?" 

"About  meeting  her." 

Tony  looked  up  from  the  stove,  as  if  the  distaste- 
fulness  of  the  question  had  brought  him  to  himself 
with  a  jerk.  Bowing  with  mock  ceremony  to  his 
friend,  he  replied  with  what  might  have  seemed  super- 
abundant emphasis : 

"I  don't  want  to  be  rude,  Romney,  but — no,  thank 
you." 

"Well,  I  shan't  insist,"  replied  Romney,  carelessly. 
"By  the  way,  I  see  you've  been  making  yourself  quite 
comfortable  here." 

"Yes,  yes,"  was  Tony's  quick  assent.  "A  friend! 
Lent  me  these  things !  Awfully  good  of  her,  wasn't 
it?" 

"HcrF 

Disregarding  the  surprise  expressed  in  Romney's 


2i4  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

tone  as  he  repeated  the  pronoun,  Tony  went  on,  with 
a  great  assumption  of  candor: 

"Yes,  old  man !  And  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
I'm  expecting  her  every  minute." 

"Ohol"  cried  Romney,  pretending  to  be  shocked. 
"Tony!  Tony!" 

"No,  you're  mistaken,"  interrupted  the  young  man 
— and  there  was  real  distress  in  his  face.  "There's 
no  nonsense  between  us.  This  girl  is  simply  doing 
my  typewriting — that's  all." 

"Some  scrubby  female  from  a  downtown  office?" 

"Scrubby?"  roared  Tony,  indignantly.  "Why,  she's 
one  of  the  daintiest  little  things  you  ever  laid  your 
eyes  on." 

"Ah !    And  yet  you  tell  me  there's  'no  nonsense'  ?" 

"There  isn't !"  rejoined  Tony,  still  more  warmly. 
"We're  friends — friends!  Very  good,  wholesome 
friends !" 

He  strode  to  the  window — it  seemed  as  if  he 
couldn't  keep  away  from  it — and  looked  out  anxious- 
ly. Romney  smiled  behind  the  young  man's  back,  at 
last  inquiring,  with  facetious  solicitude: 

"Does  she  arrive  by  way  of  the  window?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  snapped  Tony, 
turning  swiftly  to  look  at  him. 

"How  should  I  know  anything  about  it?    But  the 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  215 

way  you  trot  up  and  down  to  the  window  makes  me 
suspicious." 

Tony  went  to  the  window  and  back  twice  before 
he  spoke  again.  Then,  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  in  desperation,  he  said: 

"See  here,  Romney!     Can  you  keep  a  secret?" 

"I'm  a  lawyer,  Tony.  Keeping  secrets  is  the  better 
part  of  my  trade." 

"Well,  then,  she  does  come  by  the  window,"  con- 
fessed Tony. 

"Oh,  go  on  I"  cried  Romney,  incredulously. 

"It's  a  fact!  And — and — you'll  never  guess  who 
it  is." 

"Never !    So  you'd  better  tell  me." 

"It's  my  fairy  godmother,"  declared  Tony,  im- 
pressively. 

"A  minute  ago  it  was  your  private  secretary." 

"That's  the  beauty  of  a  fairy  godmother,"  re- 
turned the  youth,  with  the  air  of  imparting  a  remark- 
able truth.  "She  can  turn  herself  into  almost  any- 
thing— from  a  typewriter  to  a  cook." 

"She  must  be  very  handy  to  have  about  the  house. 
What's  her  name?" 

"Blessed  if  I  know." 

"Oh,  come,  now,  Tony  I  You  must  call  her  some- 
thing." 


2i6  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"I  do.    I  call  her  'Godmother'." 

Romney  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently,  as  if 
tired  of  his  friend's  fencing. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  who  she  is,  or  not?"  he 
demanded. 

"That's  the  secret!"  rejoined  the  poet,  dropping 
his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper.  "She's  the  com- 
panion of  your  Princess  next  door." 

"Oho!  That's  it,  eh?  And  she  sneaks  over  here 
across  the  roof!"  Romney  started  for  the  window. 

"Yes,  yes!  Come  away!  She  might  see  you!" 
complained  Tony,  pulling  him  back.  "If  she  were  to 
know  anybody  was  here " 

"I  suppose  this  began  by  your  flirting  with  her 
across  the  roofs  and  chimneys?" 

"It  did  not!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  blame  you,  my  boy!  As  I  recall  her, 
she  is  not  unattractive." 

"There  is  nothing  to  blame  anybody  about,"  re- 
joined Tony,  irritably.  "I'm  not  going  to  tell  you 
how  it  began.  But  I  want  you  to  understand,  once 
for  all,  that  there  is  nothing  sentimental  in  our  re- 
lations." 

"Oh,  it's  a  business  proposition,  eh?" 

"No,  no !"  negatived  Tony,  indignantly.  "It's — 
it's  a  comfortable  sort  of — oh,  thunder  I  She's  the 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  217 

salt  of  the  earth,  and — and  all  that !  Looks  after  me 
in  the  most  motherly  fashion.  Comes  every  day, 
with  my  freshly  typewritten  copy  and  a  tea-basket. 
All  very  chummy,  and  so  on." 

"That's  the  way  you  see  the  affair,"  remarked  the 
lawyer,  significantly. 

"Excuse  me !"  broke  in  the  poet.  "I  won't  have  it 
called  an  'affair'." 

"Pardon  me.  You  don't  see  it  that  way.  But  how 
does  she  see  it?" 

"Just  as  I  do,  of  course." 

"Tony  Quintard,"  warned  Romney,  solemnly, 
"you  never  know  what's  going  on  in  the  back  of  a 
woman's  head." 

"I  have  no  curiosity  to  learn." 

"That's  all  very  well.  But  where  are  you  two 
drifting?" 

"You  old  sentimentalist!"  laughed  Tony.  "Your 
mind  is  set  on  a  romance  that  doesn't  exist.  Mine  is 
set  on  an  opera  that  must  be  finished  and  mailed  to- 
night. Here's  your  rug!"  he  continued,  picking  up 
Romney's  coat  and  holding  it  out  to  him.  "Crawl 
into  it.  I've  got  to  signal  my  godmother  for  that 
manuscript." 

As  the  visitor  took  his  coat,  and,  with  Tony's  as- 
sistance, put  it  on,  he  said,  over  his  shoulder: 


218  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"You  are  a  stony-hearted  young  pup!" 

Without  reply,  Tony  went  to  the  window,  opened 
it  and  sent  forth  a  whistle. 

"That'll  fetch  her!"  he  remarked,  as  he  closed  the 
window  and  took  up  his  visitor's  hat.  "Here's  your 
hat,  old  top  I" 

"Look  here,  Tony!  Do  you  regard  that  girl  sim- 
ply as  a  machine  who  grinds  out  your  opera  for  you, 
or  as  a  charwoman  who  scrubs  your  floor?" 

"She  doesn't  scrub  my  floor!"  snapped  Tony. 

"But  you  do  regard  her  as  a  sort  of  machine?" 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired!  I  don't  regard  her  at 
all.  But  I  am  profoundly  grateful  to  her.  And — er 
— here's  your  hat!" 

"She  hasn't  come  yet,"  bantered  Romney. 

"I  can't  understand  what's  keeping  her.  She  prom- 
ised me  the  finished  manuscript  this  afternoon." 

There  could  be  no  question  that  the  young  man 
was  worried,  and  it  tickled  the  older  man  to  see  it. 
There  was  a  broad  grin  on  his  face  when  Tony 
opened  the  window  and  whistled  again.  Romney  ven- 
tured on  a  little  advice. 

"If  she  should  come  this  afternoon " 

"Oh,  she'll  come!"  broke  in  Tony. 

"She's  pretty  late  now,  according  to  schedule!  But, 
as  I  say,  if  she  should  come,  take  a  little  notice  of  her 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  219 

— the  girl  herself,  I  mean.  Give  her  some  thought. 
A  poet  should  never  lose  an  opportunity  to  study  the 
species  at  first  hand." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  Open  her  mouth 
and  count  her  teeth  ?" 

"No.  Just  open  your  eyes,  and — and  count  your 
pulse"  rejoined  Romney.  "But  I  don't  believe  she's 
coming." 

Tony  regarded  his  cynical  friend  for  a  moment  as 
if  he  would  like  to  throw  him  down  the  stairs.  Then 
he  jerked  open  the  window  and  whistled  much  louder 
than  before.  No  one  came,  and  he  turned  to  say,  in 
an  anxious  tone : 

"Now,  what  do  you  suppose  has  happened?" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Romney,  triumphantly.  "You'd 
miss  her  if  anything  happened  to  her,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Oh,  shut  up !" 

Tony  sent  a  piercing  whistle  out  into  the  sharp  win- 
ter air,  and  was  screwing  up  his  lips  for  another, 
when  Romney  placed  a  restraining  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"I  wouldn't  go  on  whistling  like  that.  She  may 
be  ill!" 

"A  healthy  girl  like  that  doesn't  get  ill  over  night !" 

"You  can't  tell.  She  might  have  caught  the  mumps 
or  measels." 


220  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Would  you — go  in  next  door,  and  slyly  inquire?" 

"And  probably  find  her  entertaining  her  young 
man  in  the  parlor,"  laughed  Romney. 

"Huh!    It's  not  likely— not  at  all  likely!" 

Tony  plumped  down  to  his  table  and  began  to 
write,  taking  no  further  notice  of  his  friend,  who,  as 
he  waved  his  handkerchief  out  of  the  window  and 
replied,  calmly: 

"If  It  isn't  likely,  at  least  it  is  possible.  You  your- 
self owned  that  she's  quite  pretty." 

"What's  her  name?"  suddenly  inquired  Tony,  ig- 
noring Romney's  remark. 

"Her  name  ?  Why,  let  me  see !  Christian  or  fam- 
ily name?" 

"Both!"  barked  Tony.  "Well,  her  family  name 
will  do.  What's  that?" 

"Her  family  name?    Why — er — er — Mudge!" 

Tony  Quintard  swung  around  in  horror. 

"Mudge?  Impossible!  It  couldn't  be — not  that 
girl!" 

"I  tell  you  it  is !  Mudge,  or — or  Fudge.  Some- 
thing that  rhymes  with  'budge'." 

"Good  Lord!" 

"Is  it  important?" 

"Only  that  I'm  writing  a  note  to  her.  I  was  going 
to  send  it  in,  but  if  I  don't  know  how  to  address  it — " 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  221 

"Poor  old  Tony!"  interrupted  Romney.  "Perhaps 
• — I  only  say  perhaps — if  you  give  it  to  me,  I'll  be 
able  to  sneak  it  in  to  her." 

"I'd  be  awfully  much  obliged,"  returned  Tony, 
brightening  up.  "Here's  the  letter.  You  may  read 
it  if  you  like." 

"My  dear  boy,  I  wouldn't  dream  of  reading  your 
correspondence !"  answered  Romney,  at  the  same 
time  adjusting  his  glasses. 

"Yes,  I  want  you  to.  I  don't  like  to  say  things 
behind  people's  backs." 

"Oh,  that's  it,  eh?  Then  I  guess  I  will  read  it." 
He  took  the  letter,  and  composing  himself  comfort- 
ably on  the  trunk,  began  aloud :  "  'My  dear  Fairy 
Godmother:  I  am  hoping  that  you  are  late  simply 
because  you  have  seen  that  eminent  sentimentalist 
and  distinguished  old  bore,  D.  Romney  Evans — ' 
"Thank  you  very  kindly!"  interjected  Romney, 
looking  up — "  'prowling  about  at  my  window.  But, 
thank  God !  he  is  taking  this  note  with  him.  Now  the 
fearful  thought  occurs  to  me  that  you  may  be  ill.  If 
you  are  ill,  send  for  a  doctor  at  once,  and  I  think 
you'd  better  have  two  nurses.  If  you  are  not  ill, 
please  remember  that  I  am  sitting  here  waiting  for 
that  manuscript,  which  must  go  into  the  post  to-night. 
If  I  do  not  hear  from  you  within  ten  minutes,  I  shall 


222  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

do  something  absolutely  desperate.  What  it  will  be 
I  haven't  the  slightest  idea.  I  shall  depend  upon 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  Oh,  to  be  forgotten 
by  one's  only  Fairy  Godmother! — Forlornly  yours, 
THE  CINDERELLA-MAN.'  " 

Romney  burst  into  a  roar  of  sardonic  laughter. 

"The  Cinderella-Man!  I  suppose  that's  your  idea 
of  a  snappy  nom-de-plume>  eh?  'The  Cinderella- 
Man!'  Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"It  is  not !  It's  the  name  she  gave  me  in  a  pretty 
spirit  of  fun." 

"Oh!"  Romney  apologized. 

"Well,"  growled  Tony,  "are  you  going  to  deliver 
my  letter,  or  shall  I  call  a  regular  messenger  boy?" 

"Certainly  not,"  laughed  the  lawyer.  "I  promise 
you  that  I'll  do  my  best  to  get  it  to  Miss  Mudge." 

He  took  the  letter  and  sealed  it  in  the  envelope. 
Then  he  moved  to  the  staircase,  smiling  as  if  he  were 
enjoying  a  strictly  private  joke.  Tony  walked  over 
with  him. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Romney!  Of  course, 
you  understand  you  are  not  always  a  bore,  by  any 
means.  Forgive  me,  won't  you  ?"  he  continued,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand.  "You  know  all  that  in  the  letter 
about  you  was  only  my  foolishness.  You're  a  bully 
old  brick  1  That's  what  you  are." 


A  GENIUS  AT  FAULT  223 

"A  good  thing  to  stub  your  toe  on,"  laughed  Rom- 
ney,  and  vanished  down  the  stairs.  Tony  stood  for 
a  few  moments  in  front  of  his  table,  deep  in  thought. 

He  didn't  understand.  This  was  the  first  time  his 
Fairy  Godmother  ever  had  been  late. 

"I'll  try  it  again,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Going  to  the  window  and  opening  it,  he  sent  forth 
a  mournful  whistle.  There  was  no  result,  and  he 
was  turning  away  when  he  noticed  that  it  was  snow- 
ing heavily. 

"Just  my  luck !"  he  grumbled.  "The  snow  will  keep 
her  away.  She  won't  want  to  come  over  the  roof 
through  all  this.  Where's  that  confounded  umbrella 
I  had  around  here?  Ah!  there  it  is!" 

He  fished  a  dilapidated  umbrella  from  a  corner, 
and  with  some  difficulty  managed  to  open  it.  The 
cover  was  torn  and  several  of  the  ribs  were  dislo- 
cated. He  shook  his  head  in  despair. 

"I  don't  believe  I  could  keep  it  over  her  head,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "Still,  it  might  be  better  than  noth- 
ing— if  she  does  not  bring  one  with  her." 

A  tap  at  the  window-pane  made  him  start  and  turn 
around.  The  next  instant  he  had  hurled  the  old  um- 
brella into  a  corner  and  hurried  to  the  window. 

"My  Fairy  Godmother!"  he  cried,  and  flung  it 
wide  open. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL. 

NEVER  had  the  Fairy  Godmother  been  so 
welcome  in  Tony  Quintard's  attic. 
She  held  a  long  envelope   in  one  hand, 
while  on  the  other  arm  hung  a  basket. 

Taking  the  envelope  from  her  first,  and  then  the 
basket,  he  gave  her  his  hand  to  help  her  down  from 
the  sill. 

She  glanced  at  him  timidly  from  the  corner  of  her 
eye  as  she  came  in.  Was  he  angry?  She  could  not 
tell  yet. 

"Thank  heaven,  you've  come  at  last  1" 
By  a  strong  effort,  Marjorie  contrived  to  make  her 
tone  calm  as  she  asked,  innocently: 
"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

"You're  so  fearfully  late,"  he  replied,  opening  the 
envelope  as  he  walked  to  the  table. 
"Am  I  late?"  she  asked,  sweetly. 
"Late?    Look  at  the  time !    It's  nearly  four  I" 
224 


MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL        225 

He  pointed  out  of  the  window  in  the  general  direc- 
tion of  the  church  clock,  but  his  eyes  were  on  his 
manuscript. 

"Nearly  four?    Why,  so  it  is." 

"I  expected  you  a  little  after  three!" 

She  had  followed  him  to  the  table,  and  she  was 
very  near  to  him  as  she  asked,  softly: 

"You  were  anxious?" 

Without  looking  up  he  replied  in  an  absent-minded 
tone: 

"You  are  always  so  punctual,  I  thought  you  might 
be  ill." 

"I  was  finishing  your  manuscript." 

"Ah!  It  is  finished?  Capital!  Is  it  all  done,  to 
the  very  end?" 

"To  the  very  end." 

She  picked  up  the  basket  from  the  floor,  where 
Tony  had  carelessly  dropped  it,  and  set  it  on  the 
trunk. 

"You  know,  you  are  awfully  good,"  Tony  said 
cheerfully  as  he  spread  the  manuscript  on  the  table 
and  gazed  at  it  lovingly.  "Now  I'll  be  able  to  get  it 
off  to-night." 

He  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  squared  his  el- 
bows. Then,  dipping  a  pen  in  the  ink,  he  prepared 
to  edit  the  pages.  It  would  have  been  evident  to  the 


226  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

most  casual  observer  that  he  was  oblivious  to  every- 
thing but  the  work  before  him. 

But  Marjorie  was  human,  and  it  was  pleasant  to 
hear  words  of  praise  from  his  lips — even  when  rather 
indifferently  bestowed. 

"So  you  were  the  least  little  bit  worried  about 
me?" 

Tony  seemed  not  to  hear.  He  was  engrossed  with 
the  manuscript,  running  the  pages  through  his  fingers, 
so  that  he  could  survey  the  work  as  a  whole. 

"It  looks  fine,  doesn't  it?"  he  exclaimed,  address- 
ing no  one  in  particular.  "So  professional!" 

"I  asked  you  a  question,"  said  Marjorie,  a  little 
tartly,  as  she  hung  her  cloak  over  the  rail  at  the  stair- 
case. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  mumbled  Tony,  more 
distrait  than  ever. 

She  came  nearer  to  him — and  she  was  pretty 
enough  in  her  dainty  grey  frock  to  have  distracted 
him  from  his  manuscript  for  a  moment,  at  least,  if 
he  had  glanced  at  her — and  repeated,  distinctly: 

"I  asked  if  you  were  the  least  bit  worried  about 
me?" 

"Certainly  I  was  worried  about  ymi?"  he  an- 
swered, preoccupied,  his  head  bent  over  his  work. 
"Er— why  shouldn't  I  be?" 


MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL        227 

It  was  not  what  Marjorie  wanted,  but  she  would 
not  give  up  yet.  She  made  another  attempt : 

"When  did  you  begin  to  be  worried?" 

"When  you  didn't  come." 

"Right  away — at  half  after  three?"  she  persisted. 

Tony  jabbed  his  pen  viciously  into  the  inkstand  and 
made  a  great  show  of  writing  something  on  the  manu- 
script, as  he  jerked  out,  in  an  annoyed  staccato: 

"Yes — yes  !     Right  away !     Immediately !" 

Alas  for  feminine  fatuity!  Does  a  woman  ever 
really  understand  a  man — or,  worse,  a  man  who  is  an 
author?  Might  not  Marjorie  have  seen  that  Tony 
was  far  away  from  her,  in  a  world  whose  confines 
were  marked  by  the  typewritten  pages  she  herself 
had  prepared  for  his  inspection? 

Well,  she  might,  perhaps,  but — she  didn't.  In- 
stead, she  glided  still  nearer  to  the  table,  as  she  mur- 
mured: 

"Were  you — very  much  worried?" 

Tony  gave  it  up — temporarily.  Throwing  down 
his  pen  desperately,  he  looked  at  her  in  beseeching 
reproof: 

"My  dear  Miss  Mudgel" 

"Mudge?"  she  echoed,  in  comic  astonishment. 
"Why,  what " 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  relentlessly.    "I  shall  call  you 


228  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

by  your  ill-fitting  surname  whenever  you  distract  me 
from  my  work.  Now,  like  a  dear,  good  Fairy  God- 
mother, go  and  get  your — your  knitting,  and  leave 
me  to  currycomb  my  masterpiece." 

"You  could  have  answered  me  in  half  as  many 
words,"  was  her  reproachful  reminder. 

"Miss  Mudgef" 

He  thundered  this  at  her,  dramatically  extending 
his  arm  with  pointed  finger  toward  the  other  side  of 
the  room. 

Marjorie  backed  hurriedly  away  from  the  table, 
and  he  resumed  his  work,  taking  no  further  notice  of 
her. 

She  picked  up  his  overcoat  and  hat — which  he  had 
flung  down  when  he  came  up  the  stairs — and  hung 
them  up  in  the  recess  behind  the  curtain.  She  patted 
the  coat  with  an  affectionate  little  gesture,  before  she 
left  it  on  its  peg. 

On  her  way  back  to  the  trunk  she  looked  across  at 
Tony.  He  was  quite  unaware  of  the  look,  or  even 
of  her  presence,  as  he  hovered  above  his  manuscript, 
with  pen  upraised,'  ready  to  swoop  down  upon  any 
defect. 

From  the  trunk  she  took  out  some  socks  and 
looked  at  one  of  them  dubiously.  Then,  from  a  well- 
equipped  sewing-basket,  she  extracted  a  wooden 


MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL        229 

sphere  known  to  the  elect  as  a  "mending  ball."  This 
ball  she  dropped  into  a  sock,  revealing  a  disgraceful 
hole  in  the  heel.  She  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  dear  I" 

Apparently  she  decided  to  try  and  repair  damages, 
for  she  proceeded  to  settle  herself  to  work.  Very 
gingerly  she  took  up  the  camp-chair  and  placed  it  at 
the  side  of  the  stove.  She  had  been  absolutely  noise- 
less, and  Tony  did  not  seem  to  know  that  she  had 
moved. 

Seating  herself  must  also  be  done  without  the 
slightest  sound.  It  was  a  nervous  operation,  for  she 
had  misgivings  that  the  light  chair,  with  its  several 
loose  joints,  might  creak  under  her  weight. 

It  occupied  ten  or  fifteen  seconds  for  her  to  sit 
down.  But  she  did  it  at  last,  without  disturbance. 
Then  she  seized  the  sock  and  began  to  darn. 

She  had  taken  only  one  stitch,  however,  before  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  was  sitting  sideways  to  Tony, 
so  that  she  could  not  look  at  him  without  turning 
her  head.  That  must  be  rectified. 

"Just  as  I  had  myself  settled  1"  was  her  regretful 
inward  comment.  "What  a  pity  that  I  have  to  move 
again!" 

She  arose  and  changed  the  position  of  the  chair 


230  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

so  that  It  faced  Tony's  table.  Then,  again  lowering 
herself  into  the  chair  with  the  greatest  care  to  make 
no  noise,  she  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  after  an- 
other glance  at  Tony — which,  of  course,  he  did  not 
see — she  applied  herself  seriously  to  the  sock 
repairs. 

There  was  stillness  for  several  minutes.  Marjorie 
had  never  darned  before,  and  she  was  obliged  to  stop 
and  study  the  intricacies  of  her  task  from  time  to 
time.  It  was  during  one  of  these  thoughtful  pauses 
that  an  ejaculation  of  pleasure  came  from  Tony. 

"This  is  wonderfully  clean  copy,"  he  broke  out, 
without  looking  up.  "Not  an  error  so  far!" 

Marjorie  beamed  in  his  direction,  while  Tony  con- 
tinued to  scan  his  manuscript.  Suddenly  he  snorted, 
angrily :  "Ah !  I  never  wrote  'luffing'  1  I  *vrote 
'laughing' !" 

In  a  second  she  was  behind  him,  looking  over  his 
shoulder. 

"Why,  where's  that?"  she  asked. 

"In  act  one.  This  piece  of  business:  'Kiri-Sawa  en- 
ters, luffing.'  ' 

Marjorie  ventured  to  place  a  hand  upon  his  arm 
as  she  looked  down  at  the  page. 

"Oh?  That?  I — I  thought  he  was  supposed  to 
be  intoxicated,  and  that  he  came  in  luffing — like  a  sail- 


MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL        231 

boat.  You  know  'luffing'  is  a  nautical  term.  He 
might  have  rolled  in  all  on  one  side." 

The  argument  rather  impressed  Tony,  and  he  hesi- 
tated before  he  changed  the  word.  But  he  did  put  his 
pen  through  it,  and  substitute  "laughing,"  even  while 
he  admitted,  with  a  thoughtful  nod: 

"Yes,  he  would  come  in  like  that.  So  he  would. 
Still,  we'll  have  'laughing'  in  the  manuscript." 

Marjorie  said  nothing  more.  She  went  to  the 
stove  and  saw  that  the  kettle  was  nearly  boiling. 
Then  she  seated  herself,  the  sock  in  her  hand,  and 
had  just  resumed  her  work  when  Tony  shattered  the 
silence  by  saying,  in  a  troubled  tone : 

"Here's  a  verse  that  has  never  satisfied  me  1" 

"You  must  not  be  so  finicky  about  it,"  she  warned, 
"or  you'll  never  finish." 

"But,  confound  the  rhyme !"  wailed  Tony,  running 
his  fingers  through  his  hair.  "I  can't  let  this  go!" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Marjorie  going  to  his  side. 

"It's  the  song  of  the  guard  on  the  battlement. 
Here  it  is  on  this  page.  The  first  verse." 

She  took  the  sheet  of  manuscript  from  him,  and 
read,  in  her  clear,  sweet  voice: 

"  'The  voice  of  the  watch  is  a  spell  1 
He  paces  his  beat " 


232  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"That's  rotten!"  interrupted  Tony.  "I  only  put 
in  'spell'  to  make  it  rhyme  with  'well' !" 

"Wait  a  minute!  I  have  it,  I  think,"  she  cried, 
hopefully.  "How  would  this  do?  Here: 

"'All's  well! 

It  is  the  call  of  the  sentinel !'  " 

"That's  bully!"  he  shouted.  "Give  me  the  page. 
Thanks!  Now,  listen: 

"'All's  well!   All's  well!   All's  well!' 

"Three  times  !    Do  you  like  that?" 

"Very  much,"  was  her  smiling  answer,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  chant  the  remainder  of  the  verse : 

"  'Is  the  song  of  the  sentinel, 
Who  paces  his  beat 
Through  rain  and  sleet, 
From  roll  of  taps  till  morning  gun, 
Each  hour  cries,  from  sun  to  sun : 
'All's  well!'  " 

He  was  radiant  as  he  turned  to  Marjorie,  and  she 

reflected  in  her  eyes  the  satisfaction  that  shone  in  his. 

"Fine,  eh?"  he  exclaimed.    "What?" 

"And  at  the  end,"  she  advised,  "you  should  have 

three  'All's  wells!'     The  first  by  the  tenor  on  the 


MAINLY  TEMPERAMENTAL        233 

stage,  the  second  by  the  baritone  at  some  distance, 
and  the  third  by  the  bass,  away  off." 

"I  see !  I  see !  Thank  you  very  much  indeed. 
That's  ripping !  I'll  put  it  in  while  it  is  fresh  in  my 
mind.  A  jolly  idea!" 

While  he  sat  down  and  wrote  hard,  in  his  impetu- 
ous way,  the  girl,  after  a  tender  look  at  the  back  of 
his  head,  with  the  disordered  hair  carelessly  pushed 
back  from  his  forehead,  moved  softly  over  to  her 
camp-chair,  and  again  attacked  the  sock  with  the  big 
hole  in  the  heel. 

It  was  nearly  five  minutes  before  anything  else  oc- 
curred to  break  the  monotony  of  darning.  Then  Mar- 
jorie,  as  she  felt  that  she  was  getting  the  better  of 
the  hole  by  steady  labor,  allowed  her  satisfaction  to 
find  vent  in  an  unconscious  humming  of  the  music  of 
Tony's  verse  which  Albert  Sewall  had  set  to  haunting 
music. 

Her  voice  was  very  low,  and  if  she  had  realized 
what  she  was  doing,  she  would  not  have  supposed  it 
could  reach  the  young  man  working  with  such  ab- 
sorbed industry  at  the  typewritten  sheets  before  him. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  Tony's  nerves  were 
strung  up  to  such  a  pitch  that  his  hearing  was  ab- 
normally sharpened,  and  he  caught  every  accent.  He 
glanced  up  with  an  expression  of  keen  annoyance. 


234  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"How  can  I  concentrate  my  mind  when  you  are 
singing  at  the  top  of  your  voice?"  he  complained. 

"I'm  sorry.    But — I  was  feeling  so — so  happy!" 

"I'll  have  to  send  you  home,"  he  threatened,  "if 
you  don't  stop  being  so  violently  happy." 

"I'll  try  not  to  make  so  much  noise  about  it,"  was 
her  meek  response. 

"Thank  you !"  he  grunted. 

He  hammered  away  at  his  work  for  a  minute,  while 
she  began  on  another  sock.  Suddenly  he  looked  up 
and  demanded: 

"What  have  you  to  be  so  happy  about,  anyway?" 
Then,  hastily,  as  she  was  about  to  speak:  "No,  no! 
Don't  answer  me — or  you'll  start  an  engrossing  con- 
versation. What  I  want  is  quiet!" 

Marjorie  went  on  submissively  with  her  darning. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED. 

**^TTA  HIS  is  a  ripping  act!"  Tony  condescended 

to  say,  after  a  long  silence.    "Only,  I  don't 

quite  like  the  finish — where  the  Princess 

Wisteria  slaps  Prince  Hollyhock's    face    and    runs 

away." 

"But  he  was  very  impudent  to  kiss  her — right  in 
front  of  her  own  palace  door,"  declared  Marjorie. 
"Any  one  might  have  seen  them!" 

"Any  one  might  have  seen  them?"  echoed  Tony. 
"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?" 

"Everything!    That's  why  she  was  so  angry." 

"I  thought  it  was  because  he  kissed  her."         .... 

"Not  because  he  kissed  her,"  was  Marjorie's  confi- 
dent assertion.  "But  because  he  did  it  so  publicly." 

"By  Jove !  You  know  more  about  my  heroine  than 
I  do  myself." 

"Goose !"  laughed  Marjorie.  "She  couldn't  possi- 
bly be  angry  just  because  he  kissed  her.  She  loves 
him  already." 

235 


236  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Tony  was  not  convinced.  He  arose  from  his  chair 
and  marched  over  to  the  stove,  looking  thoughtfully 
across  it  at  Marjorie. 

"You're  mistaken,"  he  told  her.  "It  is  not  until 
the  last  act  that  the  princess  loves  him." 

"She  loves  him  in  the  second,"  insisted  Marjorie. 
"But  she  doesn't  say  anything  about  it  until  the  last." 

"You're  sure  of  that?"  doubtfully. 

"Positive!" 

"If  that's  the  case,  there  should  be  some  expression 
of  it  at  the  end  of  Act  Two — after  the  slapping." 
He  pondered  for  a  moment.  "How  could  that  be? 
.  .  .  You'll  have  to  help  me  work  this  out.  Here  I" 
suddenly.  "You  are  the  princess." 

"Yes,"  assented  Marjorie,  eagerly,  as  she  put  the 
sock  in  her  work-basket  and  stood  up,  ready  to  play 
her  role.  "And  you're  the  prince." 

"Yes,  yes !  Come  over  here  1  That's  right !  Now, 
I  say  so-and-so,  and  so-and-so,  and  so-and-so,  and 
kiss  you !" 

As  he  mumbled  his  "so-and-so's"  he  gazed  in  mock 
rapture  at  Marjorie,  finishing  by  making  a  dart  at  her 
and  kissing  the  air,  several  inches  from  her  face. 
Marjorie  winked  involuntarily  at  the  sound  of  the 
kiss,  but  stood  her  ground,  waiting  for  the  next  thing 
in  the  scene. 


A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED      237 

"Now  you  slap  me !"  ordered  Tony. 

She  gave  him  a  very  gentle  pat  on  the  cheek. 

"Oh,  harder!"  he  cried,  impatiently.  "I've  got  to 
get  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing !" 

"But,"  protested  Marjorie,  "you  didn't  really — 
kiss  me." 

He  laughed,  thinking  only  of  the  opera. 

"Very  well.    We'll  start  all  over  again !" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  was  her  hurried  dis- 
avowal. "I  was  only  explaining  why  I  didn't  really 
slap »» 

Tony  interrupted  by  making  a  quick  movement  as 
if  he  really  would  kiss  her  this  time.  But  she  stopped 
him  with  a  slap  that  was  considerably  harder  than 
the  first  one. 

"That's  better!"  he  decided.  They  both  laughed. 
"Now  you  run  into  the  palace.  Let's  see.  Where 
is  the  palace  ?  Oh,  the  trunk,  of  course !  That's  the 
idea  !  Stay  there,  while  I " 

Marjorie  jumped  up  on  the  trunk,  in  the  character 
of  the  princess,  and  Tony,  as  the  prince,  went  down 
a  few  stairs,  looking  up  at  her. 

"Now,"  he  directed,  "the  princess  appears  at  the 
window  above  him,  and  hearing  the  prince  laughing, 
throws  down  the  flower-pots  at  him.  Curtain!  Eh?" 

But  Marjorie  had  her  doubts,  and,  as  she  leaned 


238  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

over  the  rail,  looking  down  at  Tony,  she  expressed 
them  modestly: 

"Do  you  think  that's  the  way  she'd  express  her 
affection?" 

"It  would  be  pretty  effective.  No  doubt  about 
that." 

Marjorie  shook  her  head,  while  Tony  looked  at 
her  with  more  respect  for  her  opinions  than  he  might 
have  shown  ten  minutes  before. 

"Come  back!"  she  commanded,  suddenly,  as  she 
jumped  from  the  trunk.  "Listen  to  me!  When  the 
princess  runs  into  the  palace,  she  calls  her  two  giant 
Nubian  slaves.  She  says  to  them,  very  angrily:  'Kill 
that  man !'  and  runs  up  to  the  window." 

Marjorie  illustrated  by  jumping  upon  the  trunk 
again. 

"Now,"  she  went  on,  "you  are  going  away,  laugh- 
ing." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  as  he  went  "laughing"  down  two 
or  three  stairs  and  looked  at  her  from  the  trap.  "Go 
ahead!" 

"The  slaves  rush  out,"  continued  Marjorie.  "They 
seize  you  and  are  about  to  slay  you,  when  I  scream 
from  the  window :  'Don't  you  dare  hurt  that  man,  or 
my  father  will  feed  you  to  the  tigers !'  Curtain !" 

As  she  gazed  down  at  him,  her  face  flushed  with 


A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED        239 

excitement  and  her  eyes  sparkling,  he  ran  up  the  stairs 
and  took  her  hand  delightedly. 

"That's  immense!"  he  declared.  "The  action — 
the  psychology — is  right — stunning!  All  it  wants  is 
the  proper  dialogue — the  lines." 

"You'll  keep  that  in  about  the  tigers,  won't  you?" 
"Surely!     It's  such  a  nice,  ladylike  touch." 
He  was  at  the  table  by  this  time,  and  plumping 
down  in  his  chair,  he  seized  his  pen  to  write  in  the 
changes. 

"It  makes  me  so  happy  to  be  able  to  help  you,  even 
the  least  little  bit,"  she  ventured,  as  she  followed 
him. 

"You've  helped  me  a  great  deal,"  he  replied,  con- 
descendingly. "Now,  go  away — over  to  your  chair, 
and  I'll  let  you  know  when  I  want  you  to  help  me 
again." 

"You  won't  forget  that  they  are  Nubian  slaves?" 
"No.    I  have  it  all  down  on  my  mental  cuff." 
He  waved  her  away  and  began  to  write,  without 
looking  to  see  whether  she  obeyed  him  or  not.     He 
took  it  for  granted  that  she  would  do  as  she  was  told. 
It  was  difficult  for  Marjorie  not  to  continue  the 
conversation.     She  had  been  so  interested  in  the  lit- 
tle scene  they  had  rehearsed — not  because  it  was  the 
fruit  of  her  own  suggestion,  but  because  it  meant 


24o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

progress  for  him.  Now  she  found  herself  out  of  his 
confidence  again — and  it  hurt  her. 

She  could  not  repress  a  sigh  as  she  moved  slowly 
over  to  the  window. 

"Good  gracious!"  she  suddenly  murmured,  under 
her  breath,  with  a  look  at  the  church  clock.  "I  did 
not  think  it  was  so  late.  I  must  get  tea." 

Swiftly  but  silently  she  set  about  her  preparations. 
First,  she  removed  the  cushions  from  the  trunk  and 
opened  it,  took  out  a  small  white  tablecloth.  Then, 
placing  the  folding  table  opened  up  by  the  side  of 
the  stove,  she  spread  the  cloth  and  on  it  arranged 
teacups,  a  teapot,  plates,  forks,  spoons,  etc.  In  a 
remarkably  short  space  of  time  the  table  was  neatly 
set  for  two  persons.  And  the  best  of  it  was  that  she 
had  done  it  all  without  the  least  sound. 

Tony  Quintard,  deep  in  his  work,  seemed  quite  un- 
aware of  what  was  going  on  across  the  room.  He 
never  looked  in  her  direction  at  all,  and  it  pleased 
her  that  she  had  been  able  to  do  all  this  without  dis- 
turbing him. 

"He  works  so  hard  that  it  would  be  a  sin  to  annoy 
him  ever  so  little,"  she  thought. 

From  her  basket  she  took  the  good  things  that 
were  to  go  with  the  tea.  There  was  half  a  baked 
hawi,  some  salad,  a  bottle  of  olives,  a  jar  of  marma- 


A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED        241 

lade,  a  plate  of  sandwiches  and  a  very  attractive 
cake. 

Having  disposed  these  delicacies  neatly  on  the  ta- 
ble, she  brewed  the  tea,  and  soon  the  attic  was  fra- 
grant with  the  odor  of  the  comforting  beverage. 

Unfortunately  at  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  she 
accidentally  knocked  a  spoon  from  the  table.  It  fell 
to  the  bare  floor  with  a  terrifying  jingle. 

Instantly  Tony  sprang  up  with  a  howl. 

"Upon  my  word !  How  can  I  work  when  you're 
making  such  a  clatter?" 

"It's  time  you  stopped,  anyhow,"  she  interrupted, 
composedly.  "You  must  have  your  tea." 

"Tea !  Tea !  How  can  I  get  this  job  finished 
when  you're  always  bothering  to  feed  me?"  he  com- 
plained hotly. 

"You  can't  work  without  being  fed." 

"I  can't  work  when  I'm  stuffed" 

Marjorie's  sense  of  justice  moved  her  to  reply 
rather  sharply: 

"If  you — you  stuff  yourself,  it  is  not  my  fault." 

"I  don't  stuff  myself!"  retorted  Tony,  sharply. 
"It's  you!  You're  forever  making  me  eat.  Why, 
you've  kept  me  so  stuffed  for  the  past  week  that  half 
the  time  my  brains  have  utterly  refused  to  work." 

Marjorie  stamped  her  little  foot  impatiently. 


242  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"It  isn't  true.  They've  worked  better  than  ever. 
You  said  so  yourself." 

"Now  you've  upset  me  so  that  I  can't  work,"  he 
bellowed  angrily. 

But  if  he  expected  sympathy  on  this  score,  he  soon 
found  that  he  was  mistaken.  Marjorie  knew  that  she 
could  not  afford  to  pity  him.  If  she  did,  he  never 
would  consent  to  have  tea.  Her  voice  was  as  hard 
as  she  could  make  it  when  she  retorted: 

"I'm  glad  of  it!" 

"Don't  you  realize  that  I  must  have  this  thing  done 
to-night?"  he  demanded  with  great  indignation. 

"You'll  finish  it  much  better  if  you  stop  and  have 
your  tea  first." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  let  me  finish  it  now,"  he  en- 
treated in  a  tone  of  intense  exasperation,  "while  I 
am  in  the  mood!" 

"You're  not  in  the  mood  now.  .  .  .  And,  the  tea 
will  spoil!" 

"Oh,  hang  the  tea !"  shouted  Tony.  "Here  I  am, 
trying  my  best  to  keep  myself  in  the  atmosphere  of 
romance,  and  you  keep  dragging  me  out  of  it  into  the 
commonplace  of  material  things.  If  you'll  leave  me 
alone  for  five  minutes,  I'll  be  through." 

Tony  had  his  own  way.  When  she  saw  that  he  was 
absolutely  determined  she  retired  from  the  contest. 


A  LOVE  PASSAGE  IMPROVED        243 

"Five  minutes  will  do  it,"  he  grunted,  contentedly, 
as  he  resumed  his  work. 
She  did  not  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

PRIMROSE  AS   CUPID. 

TONY  QUINTARD  made  a  neat  pile  of  his 
manuscript  after  a  while,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
remarked     cheerfully,    without    looking    at 
Marjorie : 

"There!     It's   done!     Didn't   have    to   change    a 
word  in  the  last  few  pages.    Awfully  good  typewrit- 
ing ! .  Do  you  know,  you  could  make  your  living — " 
It  was  just  as  he  reached  this  point  in  his  jubilation 
that  his  eyes  roved  across  the  attic  in  search  of  the 
girl  who  had  helped  him  so  loyally  in  his  task. 
"Good  Lord!" 

She  was  sitting  upon  the  cushions  on  the  floor,  and 
her  arms  rested  on  the  trunk,  supporting  her  head. 
Her  soft  hair  was  all  Tony  could  see.  Her  face  was 
hidden  in  her  arms.  She  was  just  a  miserable  little 
huddle.  He  saw  that  she  quivered  with  sobs  from 
time  to  time. 

He  ran  to  her  and  touched  her  shoulder. 
244 


PRIMROSE  AS  CUPID  245 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "What's 
wrong?" 

There  was  no  response,  and  Tony  stood  up  with  a 
puzzled  expression,  which  soon  changed  to  one  of  re- 
morse. Now  that  the  immediate  glamor  of  the  opera 
rolled  away  from  him,  he  became  vaguely  suspicious 
of  himself. 

What  had  he  done?  He  ruffled  up  his  hair  in  his 
desperation  and  again  bent  over  her. 

"Why,  I  must  have  hurt  you!  But  you  know  I 
didn't  mean  to.  When  I  am  working  I  am  not  a  fit 
companion  for  a — a  prehistoric  monster!" 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  by  her  side,  gently  endeav- 
oring to  see  her  face. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,"  he  went  on,  earnestly.  "And 
you've  been  so  wonderful  to  help  me  with  my  opera. 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without  you !  I'm  so 
impatient,  so  restless,  all  day  until  you  come.  Why, 
you're  just  the  dearest  little  pal  in  the  world !  And 
when  you're  gone,  I'm  terribly,  terribly  lonely.  The 
only  thing  that  cheers  me  then  is  the  thought  that 
you  are  coming  again  to-morrow." 

The  sincerity  and  tenderness  with  which  he  said 
this  was  irresistible.  At  least,  Marjorie  found  it  so. 
Shyly,  she  put  forth  a  hand.  He  covered  it  with  his 
own,  and  for  a  moment  held  it  without  speaking.  At 


246  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

last  she  looked  up  at  him  tearfully,  and  he  burst 
out: 

"You  poor  little  thing!    You've  been  crying  I" 

"No!"— sob— "no,  I  haven't!" 

She  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  apron,  fighting  back  the 
tears. 

"I'm  a  beast!"  he  declared,  vehemently. 

"No — no,  you're  not.     It's  all — all  right  now." 

"You  forgive  me?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

She  was  smiling  now,  and  Tony  seemed  to  feel  his 
heart  leap  as  he  saw  it.  If  he  had  stopped  to  think 
he  might  have  marveled  that  a  girl's  mood  could  have 
such  an  effect  upon  him.  But  it  was  characteristic  of 
him  to  take  things  for  granted,  and  he  did  not  trouble 
to  analyze  his  feelings.  Instead,  he  gently  raised 
Marjorie  to  her  feet  and  led  her  to  where  the  table 
was  set  for  tea. 

"Ah,  that's  like  my  dear  little  Fairy  Godmother! 
Now  what  do  you  say  to  tea  ?  You  know,  I'm  starv- 
ing! Everything  looks  so  good!" 

His  eye  fell  upon  her  open  work-basket,  and  he 
lifted  from  it  the  sock  she  had  been  darning.  Ex- 
amining it  carefully,  he  exclaimed: 

"By  Jove !    You've  been  darning  my  socks !" 

"Yes,"  she  confessed  in  timid  tones. 


PRIMROSE  AS  CUPID  247 

"It's  a  beautiful  piece  of  work,"  he  declared,  hold- 
ing the  sock  closer  to  his  eyes  and  turning  it  over  to 
admire  it  from  all  points  of  view. 

"You — you  think  it  is  all  right?"  she  asked,  with 
shy  pleasure. 

"Right?  It's  marvelous!  I  don't  see  how  you 
do  it.  I  know  how  hard  it  is.  ...  I've  tried  it  my- 
self." 

Her  appreciative  little  laugh  was  good  to  hear,  and 
when  Tony  joined  in  with  a  full,  round  "Ha,  ha!" 
laughter  quite  brushed  away  the  last  remnant  of  their 
little  difference. 

He  placed  the  camp-chair  for  her  at  one  side  of  the 
table  and  made  her  sit  down.  Then  he  brought  his 
own  chair  to  the  other  side  and  smiled  comfort- 
ably. 

"You  know,  I  am  famished!" 

"I'm  afraid  this  tea  is  too  strong,"  she  remarked, 
as  she  poured  out  a  cup. 

"Not  for  me,"  declared  Tony.  "But  perhaps  you'd 
better  have  a  little  hot  water  in  yours." 

He  was  as  full  of  interest  in  the  tea  as  he  had  been 
in  his  opera  a  little  while  before.  Jumping  up,  he 
brought  the  kettle  and  poured  some  water  into  Mar- 
jorie's  cup.  As  he  returned  from  replacing  the  kettle 
on  the  stove,  he  said  solemnly: 


248  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"That  is  one  of  the  handsomest  hams  I've  ever 
seen." 

"I  hope  you  will  like  it." 

"I  shall,  I  know.  How  could  I  help  it?  I'm  be- 
ginning to  feel  like  a  party.  .  .  .  You  don't  know 
what  a  relief  it  is  to  me  to  get  that  job  off  my 
chest." 

Before  she  could  respond,  they  were  startled  by 
three  distinct  knocks  on  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  Tony  recovered  at  once. 

"That's  Primrose !  He's  crazy  about  you.  I'll 
have  to  let  him  come  up  for  a  minute."  Then,  rais- 
ing his  voice,  he  called:  "Come  in!" 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  any  one  who  is  as  good  to 
you  as  he  is,"  said  Marjorie,  handing  Tony  a  cup  of 
tea. 

It  was  now  that  Primrose  appeared.  He  was  smil- 
ing, apologetic  and  somewhat  embarrassed. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered  in  his  husky 
tones.  "I — I  was  comin'  up  to  see  if — if  the  oil 
stove  was  burnin'  all  right." 

"I  think  you'll  find  that  it  is  behaving  itself  per- 
fectly," laughed  Tony. 

Primrose  shuffled  over  to  the  stove  and  turned  his 
back  to  it.  As  the  grateful  warmth  permeated  his 
being,  he  smiled  and  folded  his  hands  beatifically  in 


PRIMROSE  AS  CUPID  249 

front  of  him.  Then  he  bobbed  to  Marjorie,  beam- 
ing on  her  benevolently. 

"How-de-do,  miss?  I  hopes  you're  feelin'  as  good 
as  usual." 

"Yes,  thank  you.    How  are  you,  Primrose?" 

"If  I  was  feelin'  bad — which  I  ain't — it'd  cure  me, 
the  sight  of  you  and  Mr.  Quintard  sittin'  here  to- 
gether at  the  table,"  he  replied.  Then  he  added,  with 
a  still  more  expansive  smile :  "It  do  look  so  cheery 
and  affable !  Like  a  little  man  and  his  wife,  you 
know." 

Tony  laughed  heartily.  He  saw  only  the  absurdity 
of  such  an  idea.  Then,  as  he  glanced  at  Marjorie, 
he  became  aware  that  her  cheeks  were  aflame  with 
embarrassment,  and  that  she  was  dropping  lump  after 
lump  of  sugar  into  her  teacup  without  knowing  what 
she  was  doing. 

Meanwhile,  the  devoted  Primrose  rambled  on,  in 
his  monotonous  way: 

"I  often  says  to  myself — I  says :  'Now,  wouldn't  it 
be  nice  if  them  two " 

Tony  felt  that  now  was  the  time  to  stem  the  tide 
of  Primrose's  moralizing.  He  attempted  it  by  offer- 
ing the  old  man  a  plate  of  sandwiches. 

"Have  a  sandwich,  Primrose !    Have  a  sandwich  1" 

"Thank  you,  very  kindly,  sir." 


250  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Primrose  accepted  the  sandwich.  Then,  as  he  gave 
signs  of  being  about  to  break  out  again  on  the  awk- 
ward subject  just  where  he  had  been  interrupted, 
Marjorie  hastily  cut  off  a  huge  slice  of  cake  and  ten- 
dered it  to  him. 

"You'll  have  a  piece  of  cake,  won't  you?"  she 
asked,  sweetly. 

"Thank  you,  miss.  .  .  .  As  I  was  sayin',  you  and 
Mr.  Quintard " 

"Let  me  pour  you  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  interposed,  as 
Primrose,  sandwich  in  one  hand  and  slice  of  cake  in 
the  other,  seemed  determined  to  keep  on  talking. 
"You'll  have  some  tea?" 

"If  you'd  be  so " 

Primrose  chanced  to  glance  at  Tony  at  this  junc- 
ture, and  was  puzzled  to  see  that  the  young  man  was 
shaking  his  head  violently  and  motioning  toward 
the  stairs.  What  he  meant,  the  old  man  could  not 
tell. 

"If  you'd  be  so  kind,  miss,  as — as "  But  the 

mysterious  signals  were  still  going  on.  So  in  desper- 
ation, Primrose  turned  to  Tony  and  asked,  in  rather 
more  distinct  tones  than  usual:  "What  is  it  you're 
wantin',  sir?" 

"Oh!"  groaned  Tony,  under  his  breath,  adding, 
aloud,  to  Primrose:  "Nothing!  nothing!  I  was  only 


PRIMROSE  AS  CUPID  251 

thinking  that  the  Great  She-Bear — well,  you  know  I 
She's  likely  to  be  looking  for  you." 

It  was  a  lucky  thought  of  Tony's.  Well  he  knew 
that  dread  of  the  Great  She-Bear  was  deeply  im- 
planted in  his  humble  friend's  bosom,  and  that  the 
thought  of  her  catching  him  idle  even  for  a  minute 
dismayed  him  to  the  point  of  panic.  Primrose  start- 
ed in  terror  and  glanced  apprehensively  down  the 
trap. 

"I'm  obliged  to  you  for  thinking  of  it,  sir,"  he  ac- 
knowledged, forgetting  everything  else  for  the  mo- 
ment. "She's  in  a  fierce  humor  to-day.  I  guess  I'd 
better  be  going."  He  waved  the  cake  and  sandwich 
and  bobbed  to  Marjorie.  "Thank  you  very  much, 
miss." 

"I  hope  you'll  come  to-morrow,  Primrose,"  she  re- 
sponded, smiling;  "at  tea-time." 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  returned  the  highly  gratified 
Primrose.  "Thank  you!  Thank  you!  Good-day, 
miss !" 

He  shuffled  slowly  down  the  stairs.  As  the  door 
closed,  Tony  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at 
Marjorie — who,  her  head  bent,  was  sipping  her  tea — 
with  more  earnestness  and  curiosity  than  ever  he  had 
displayed  before. 

It  seemed  to  have  occurred  to  Tony  suddenly  that 


252  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

this  unknown  girl  who  had  done  so  much  for  him 
might  have  thoughts  and  aspirations  aside  from  the 
opera — in  which,  after  all,  there  was  no  reason  for 
her  taking  such  a  deep  interest.  It  was  not  her  opera. 

He  had  reached  this  point  in  his  musings  when  she 
happened  to  look  up,  meeting  his  eye.  Evidently  she 
was  surprised  at  the  thoughtful,  steady  way  in  which 
he  was  regarding  her.  A  questioning  little  smile 
tilted  the  corners  of  her  mouth.  Then,  as  he  con- 
tinued to  look  at  her  without  speaking,  she  dropped 
her  own  eyes  in  embarrassment. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  Cinderella-man  had  seemed 
to  consider  her  in  any  other  light  than  as  an  automatic 
adjunct  to  his  operatic  masterpiece. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS/ 


tea  is  cold,  I'm  afraid." 
He  did  not  reply,  and  she  had  the  teapot 
in  her  hand,  about  to  pour  some  tea  into  his 
cup  when  he  held  up  a  hand  to  stop  her. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  very  seriously,  and  as  if 
he  never  had  thought  of  it  before,  "that  you've  told 
me  very  little  about  yourself." 

She  put  down  the  teapot  and  looked  at  him,  won- 
dering what  was  coming.  After  a  pause,  he  went  on: 

"You're  almost  as  much  alone  in  the  world  as  I 
am,  aren't  you?" 

"Almost." 

Her  tone  was  very  subdued,  and  she  could  not  keep 
her  eyes  on  his  now.  He  saw  that  she  was  breathing 
fast,  and  he  knew  that  his  question  had  somehow 
struck  home. 

"I  don't  often  think  of  things  like  this,"  he  con- 
tinued; "but,  if  I  should  die  to-night,  it  wouldn't  af- 
fect a  single  soul." 

253 


254  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

There  was  a  world  of  pity  in  her  eyes  as  she  turned 
them  to  him  for  a  fleeting  instant.  But  she  did  not 
speak. 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  you"  he  went  on, 
more  softly  than  before,  "is  there  anyone  who  would 
care  very  much?" 

"No.  ...  Not  now!" 

"Ah,  but  there  was  some  one  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Recently?" 

For  a  few  moments  she  did  not  answer,  and  Tony, 
knowing  that  she  would  speak  at  last — when  she 
could — waited. 

"My — mother!"  she  whispered. 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Tony,  sympathetically.  "I  didn't 
know.  .  .  .  I'm  awfully  sorry."  He  was  silent  for  a 
while.  Presently:  "It's  been  a  long  time  since 
I  lost  my  mother.  But  I  still  miss  her.  .  .  . 
So  I — so  I  know  how — how  sad  and  lonely  you  must 
be." 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  there  was  a  mournful  little 
smile  on  them  as  she  returned: 

"I  am — sometimes!" 

"It's  worse — at  night — isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

Another  pause,  during  which  Tony  seemed  to  for- 


'THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS"      255 

get  where  he  was,  for  he  broke  out,  suddenly,  with 
an  attempt  at  lightness: 

"My  mother  made  such  a  darned  baby  of  me!" 

"Of  course  she  did,"  responded  Marjorie,  with 
conviction. 

"Yours  must  have  made  a — a  bigger  baby  of  you." 

"I  don't  know,"  was  her  reply.  "But  I  can't  get 
used  to  going  to  sleep  without  having  her  tuck  me 
in.  ...  And  I — I  put  her  to  bed  myself  for  her 
last — last  sleep,  away — away — over  there — all  alone 
— in  France — and  I'm  here !" 

Not  much  wonder  that  her  head  drooped  and  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes.  That  day  in  Nice,  when 
she  returned  from  her  shopping  trip,  full  of  the  joy 
of  life,  to  find  her  mother  stricken,  came  back  to 
her  as  plainly  as  if  she  were  living  it  all  over.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Tony  felt  suddenly  miserable.  A  wave  of  sym- 
pathy for  Marjorie  swept  over  him,  but  it  was  not 
just  sympathy  that  suddenly  made  him  see  her  with 
new  vision. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  folded  white  handker- 
chief, shook  it  out,  and  silently  slipped  it  into  her 
hand.  She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled.  Then  she 
daubed  at  her  eyes  with  his  handkerchief,  and  he 
looked  and  looked  at  her  as  if  he  were  seeing  her 


256  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

for  the  first  time.  When  he  did  speak,  it  was  to  say, 
very  slowly: 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  marrying?" 

Marjorie  gazed  up  at  him,  waiting  for  some  ex- 
planation. He  vouchsafed  none,  but  looked  deep 
down  into  her  eyes,  filled  with  the  wonder  of  his  dis- 
covery. 

"You  have  the  most  wonderful  eyes!"  he  mur- 
mured, slowly. 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  he  strode  over 
to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  he  snow-covered 
roofs  for  a  moment.  Then  he  came  back  and,  stand- 
ing behind  her,  slowly  put  out  a  hand  as  if  he  would 
touch  her  hair.  But  he  changed  his  mind  and,  in- 
stead, thrust  both  hands  into  his  pockets,  drew  them 
out,  and  counted  his  store — seventeen  cents!  He 
gazed  hopelessly  about  the  room. 

Marjorie  turned  to  him.  But  he  did  not  seem  to 
notice  her  movement,  for  he  walked  over  to  his  table 
and  began  to  finger  the  manuscript  of  his  opera. 

"I  wonder  if  this  thing  is  any  good?"  he  said, 
aloud — "  'The  Gateway  of  Dreams !'  ' 

"  'The  Gateway  of  Dreams?'  "  she  asked,  with 
quick  interest. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you? — that's  the  title  I've  given  the 
opera.  It  came  to  me  last  night." 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS"      257 

"It's  an  inspiration!"  cried  Marjorie. 

"H'm !  Yes !  But  you  never  heard  of  a  man 
marrying  on  'inspiration.'  '  He  looked  at  her  fixed- 
ly. "Yes,  all  I  could  offer  a  girl  to-day  would  be 
just  a  little — inspiration.  It  can't  be  done!" 

Marjorie  had  come  to  the  table  now — near  enough 
to  Tony  to  touch  him,  if  she  had  desired.  She  looked 
at  him  as  steadily  as  he  had  at  her  a  moment  before, 
and  asked,  with  strained  calmness: 

"Wouldn't  it  be  a  sensible  idea  if  you  were  to 
marry  a  girl  with  a  little  money  of  her  own?" 

"No — no — I  wouldn't  marry  a  girl  with  money," 
maintained  Tony. 

His  quiet  steadfastness  to  that  idea  made  her 
shrink  away,  but  she  did  not  yield  her  point. 

"Some  awfully  nice  girls  come  that  way,"  she  re- 
minded him.  "There's  the  Princess " 

"Oh — please!"  begged  Tony. 

"It  isn't  fair  for  you  to  rje  so  prejudiced  against 
her,"  she  fenced.  "The  Princess  is  the  same  sort  of 
girl  that— that  I  am." 

"Oh,  you're  worth  a  million  princesses!" 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  sincerity  of  this 
conviction.  She  knew  Tony  meant  exactly  what  he 
said,  and  yet — considering  everything — it  was  with 
some  misgivings  that  she  thanked  him  for  his  opinion. 


258  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Tony,  quite  unaware  that  there  was  anything  equiv- 
ocal in  what  he  had  said,  gazed  after  her  admiringly 
as,  moving  back  to  the  tea-table,  she  took  the  kettle 
from  the  stove  to  replenish  the  teapot. 

"Do  have  some  hot  tea?"  she  suggested,  hurriedly. 

But  Tony's  mind  was  far  away  from  tea  by  this 
time.  He  had  been  following  a  line  of  thought  of 
which  he  could  not  see  the  end,  and  yet — which 
might  lead  him  to  happiness. 

"If  I  should  win  the  prize " 

He  had  spoken  more  to  himself  than  to  Marjorie. 
But  she  caught  it  and  replied,  with  quick  encourage- 
ment: 

"I'm  sure  you  will.    You  must!" 

"You  have  great  faith  in  the  opera,  haven't  you?'* 
he  said. 

"It  can't  fail!"  she  replied,  in  a  positive  tone. 

"In  that  case,"  mused  Tony,  "I  should  have  ten 
thousand  dollars."  Then,  hopefully:  "A  man  could 
marry  on  ten  thousand — couldn't  he?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed!"  was  her  prompt  answer. 

She  peeped  into  the  teapot,  to  save  herself  the 
necessity  of  looking  at  Tony.  He  was  leaning  across 
the  table,  his  face  not  many  inches  from  her  own. 

"And  my  prospects  would  be  mighty  good,"  he 
continued.  "Especially,  if  the  opera  made  a  hit." 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS"      259 

"I  think  your  prospects  are  awfully  good  now,"  as 
she  poured  him  a  cup  of  tea. 

"That's  all  very  well,"  he  returned,  with  a  business- 
like air.  "But  a  man  must  have  some  ready  money. 
He  can't  ask  a  girl  to  take  chances." 

"A  girl  is  always  glad  to — to  take  chances" — here 
she  handed  Tony  his  teacup — "when  she's  sure  she 
is  taking  them  with  the  right  man." 

"Ah !  That's  the  marvelous  thing  about  girls.  But 
a  man  doesn't  like  to  ask  them  to  take  chances." 

"You  mustn't  treat  us  as  if  we  were  perishable 
freight,"  she  smiled.  "Though  we  like  to  have  you 
think  of  us  that  way — sometimes." 

"It  would  be  the  most  wonderful  adventure,"  he 
exclaimed,  dreamily. 

"To  sail  into  life,"  she  went  on,  "with  nothing  but 
love  for  a  boat  I" 

"But  you  can't  sail  without  wind,"  he  continued, 
with  a  comical  expression  of  dismay.  Then,  in  de- 
termined accents:  "By  Jove!  That  opera  of  mine 
shall  raise  the  wind  for  me.  'The  Gateway  of 
Dreams'!" 

"The  Gateway  of  Dreams  P*  she  echoed. 

Tony  arose  from  his  chair,  and  holding  his  teacup 
above  his  head,  as  if  proposing  a  toast,  cried:  "To 
you,  little  Fairy  Godmother!" 


26o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Entering  laughingly  into  the  spirit  of  the  conceit, 
Marjorie  clinked  her  cup  against  Tony's,  as  she  re- 
peated his  words,  "To  the  success  of  'The  Gateway 
of  Dreams' !" 

It  was  at  this  precise  instant  that  the  censorious 
visage  of  the  Great  She-Bear  came  up  the  trap,  her 
angry  eyes  fixed  upon  Marjorie. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  SHATTERED  PARADISE 

SO  sudden  and  unexpected  had  been  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Great  She-Bear  that,  for  several 
seconds,  Tony  and  Marjorie  stood  perfectly 
still,  their  teacups  touching,  while  they  gazed  at  this 
creature  who  had  so  rudely  broken  into  their  Eden. 

Furious  as  she  was,  a  touch  of  grim  pleasure  re- 
vealed itself  in  the  face  of  the  Great  She-Bear.  The 
landlady  prided  herself  on  her  perspicacity.  She 
often  boasted  that  nobody  could  fool  her,  and  most 
of  her  time  was  occupied  in  trying  to  make  such  a 
thing  impossible. 

Since  she  had  seen  how  much  more  comfortable 
and  decorative  Tony's  garret  was,  and  especially  after 
discovering  the  chiffon  scarf  on  the  young  man's  ta- 
ble, she  had  decided  that  "something  was  wrong" 
with  her  lodger. 

What  that  "something"  was  she  suspected  to  be  of 
the  feminine  gender.  The  scarf  was  part  of  a  wo- 

261 


262  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

man's  attire,  and  she  had  shrewdly  concluded  that 
only  a  woman  could  have  converted  that  attic  into 
such  a  cheery  and  comfortable  domicile. 

Therefore,  as  she  appeared,  with  all  the  ominous- 
ness  of  the  evil  genius  in  a  pantomime,  rising,  tower- 
ing up  through  the  trap,  and  found  herself  staring 
at  Marjorie  Caner,  she  congratulated  herself  upon 
her  acumen. 

"Mr.  Quintard,  take  that  girl  out  of  here!"  she 
rumbled.  It  was  her  opening  explosion,  giving  prom- 
ise of  heavier  detonations  yet  to  come. 

Taken  unaware,  Tony  was  for  a  moment  utterly 
bewildered.  Expressions  of  astonishment  and  puz- 
zlement, rather  than  alarm,  at  first  flickered  across 
his  expressive  face;  but  as  he  met  the  baleful,  Puri- 
tanical and  steady  glance  of  the  Great  She-Bear,  a 
sensation  of  apprehension  swept  over  him.  Instinc- 
tively he  put  down  his  cup  and  held  out  a  protecting 
arm  to  Marjorie.  She,  herself  had  started  up  at  the 
first  sound  of  that  ominous  command,  uttered  by  the 
intruder.  Innocent  as  the  girl  was,  entirely  lacking 
in  experience  with  people  of  the  Great  She-Bear's 
narrow  and  venomous  type,  her  instinct  gave  her 
some  inkling  of  the  deeper  significance  of  the  sneer 
on  the  woman's  coarse  mouth,  of  the  menace  in  her 
sullen  eyes.  Instinctively,  too,  she  caught  the  hand 


A  SHATTERED  PARADISE  263 

that  Tony  held  out  to  her,  and  her  first  fears  were 
somewhat  lulled  by  his  reasurring  look  of  protection. 
Her  response  was  a  slight  tightening  of  her  slim  fin- 
gers on  his  hand. 

That  pressure  upon  his  hand  brought  Tony  to  a 
realization  of  the  catastrophe  which  had  overtaken 
them.  At  the  same  time  his  blood  began  to  mount 
hotly  to  his  head.  As  he  turned  his  shocked  and 
indignant  face  to  the  Great  She-Bear,  he  heard  her  re- 
peat, menacingly: 

"I  want  you  to  get  out  of  here,  and  take  that  girl 
with  you !  Now  I  know  what's  been  goin'  on  up  in 
this  attic." 

For  the  moment,  Tony's  power  of  utterance  had 
deserted  him.  All  he  could  say  was  a  threatening: 
"Hush!  Hush!" 

But  the  Great  She-Bear  was  not  to  be  hushed  so 
readily.  "You  take  that  girl  out  of  here  1"  she  reiter- 
ated, with  more  vehemence  than  ever.  "This  is  a  de- 
cent house,  and  I'm  a  respectable  woman!" 

The  full  force  of  the  woman's  horrible  misunder- 
standing struck  him,  like  a  blow.  "You  don't  know 
what  you're  saying,"  he  expostulated,  in  a  low,  trem- 
bling tone. 

"I'm  saying  that  I  won't  have  a  lodger  of  mine 
carrying  on  in  his  rooms  with  a  hussy!" 


264  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"How  dare  you !"  cried  Tony.  If  the  Great  She- 
Bear  had  been  a  man  he  would  have  throttled  her. 
It  was  all  he  could  do  to  restrain  himself. 

"She's  a  hussy !  That's  what  she  is  I"  She  point- 
ed a  grimy,  gnarled  finger  at  Marjorie. 

"Stop,  I  say — stop !"  Tony  took  a  step  toward 
her,  his  hands  clenched,  while  Marjorie,  retreating 
across  the  room,  piteously  held  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

"Where  do  you  think  you  are?"  The  voice  of  the 
Great  She-Bear  became  more  vehement.  "I  won't 
have  such  goin's  on  up  here,  I  tell  you.  You'll  get 
out  of  my  house,  you  and  that " 

Tony's  self-control  collapsed  suddenly,  "Get  out 
of  my  room  !"  he  cried. 

"Take  her  where  she  belongs !"  shouted  the  land- 
lady, throwing  down  Marjorie's  scarf  which  she 
plucked  out  of  her  apron  pocket.  "I  guessed  what 
was  doin'  up  here  when  I  found  that  thing  1" 

"Get  out  of  my  room,  you  evil-minded  beast,  with 
your  rotten  respectability !"  Tony  was  trembling  with 
rage/ 

"It's  my  room!"  shrilled  the  woman. 

Tony  towered  above  her,  the  personification  of 
righteous  wrath,  while  his  voice  rose  hysterically: 
"Don't  speak!  You've  done  your  work!  I'll  leave 
this  place  to-night,  but  you — you  leave  now!  Get  out 


A  SHATTERED  PARADISE  265 

— get  out — you  beast,  or  I'll  throw  you  down  those 
stairs!" 

The  Great  She-Bear's  face  turned  a  dingy  white. 
She  saw  plainly  then  that  Tony  meant  what  he  said. 
She  turned,  with  baffled  anger  and  muttering  inaudi- 
ble imprecations,  and  slowly  descended  the  stain. 
In  a  moment  they  heard  the  door  slam  below. 

When  Tony  at  last  turned  to  Marjorie,  he  found 
her  standing  by  his  writing  table,  pale,  distracted, 
horrified.  She  met  his  gaze,  which  begged  forgive- 
ness, with  a  piteous  look  of  affection. 

At  first  she  had  not  comprehended  die  vile  insin- 
uations of  that  terrible  woman.  The  baleful,  sordid 
idea  was  too  dreadful  to  penetrate  her  frank  con- 
sciousness. Then  it  had  struck  her,  all  at  once — 
hideously. 

She  looked  heart-brokenly  at  Tony.  As  he  re- 
turned her  gaze,  he  felt  that  this  was  the  end  of  their 
wonderful  companionship  in  the  attic.  Beyond  that 
he  could  not  see. 

Slowly  he  put  her  things  into  the  work-basket  and 
dropped  the  socks  she  had  been  mending  into  the 
trunk.  He  picked  up  the  scarf  and  saw  her  shiver. 
He  knew  that  she  could  never  touch  it  again.  He 
folded  it  mechanically  and  laid  it  away — out  of  her 
sight.  He  gathered  up  her  doak,  draped  it  gently 


266  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

about  her  shoulders,  and  slowly  opened  the  window. 
She  had  followed  him.  Neither  had  spoken.  They 
could  not  speak.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  There 
were  tears  in  his.  He  gave  her  his  hand.  She  took 
it,  held  it  closely  to  her.  It  was  evident  that  she 
longed  for  him  to  take  her  in  his  arms.  He  had  never 
been  so  tempted,  but  he  knew  it  wasn't  fair.  He 
tenderly  put  her  from  him  and  helped  her  over  the 
window  ledge. 

Marjorie  stood  there  on  the  roof,  still  clasping  his 
hand  across  the  sill.  He  stopped,  kissed  her  hand, 
and  let  her  go.  For  an  instant  their  eyes  met,  and 
their  hearts  spoke  "Farewell  1" 

Suddenly  she  turned,  with  a  little  sob,  and  went 
swiftly  over  the  snow-covered  roof,  turned  the  corner 
of  a  chimney,  and  was  gone. 

Tony  closed  the  window  slowly,  leaned  both  arms 
against  the  casement,  his  head  bent  and  his  face 
pressed  against  the  cold  panes. 

Then  it  came  to  him,  with  heart-breaking  poig- 
nancy, that  their  little  paradise  was  shattered.  A  veil 
had  been  drawn  across  his  stars,  his  dream-city  was 
gone.  He  would  never,  never  see  it  again  I 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY. 

DAYS,  then  a  week,  passed.    Time  moved  with 
heavy  feet,  and  the  littlest  hours  were  dreary 
ones  for  Marjorie.     She  had  tried  to  settle 
down  to  the  dull  routine  of  her  father's  house  after 
that  darkling  afternoon  when  she  had  parted  from 
her  Cinderella-man.    She  had  not  seen  him  since,  but, 
through  a  single  visitation  of  the  faithful  Primrose, 
who  had  timorously  sought  her  out,  she  had  learned 
that  Tony  was  moving  from  the  rookery  next  door. 

It  was  early  in  the  evening.  Marjorie  had  just 
come  into  the  drawing-room,  wearing  the  fluffy  white 
gown  which  set  off  her  dainty  prettiness  so  charming- 
ly. She  had  found  the  big  place  empty,  and,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  did,  glided  over  to  the  window 
near  the  piano.  It  was  from  this  window  that  she 
had  caught  her  first  sight  of  the  glow  from  Tony's 
dormer. 

There  was  no  light  there  now,  and  as  she  looked, 
she  felt  as  though  her  heart  were  crying. 

267 


268  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

The  fact  was  that  Marjorie  was  so  unhappy  that 
she  had  begun  to  show  it.  Even  Doctor  Thayer,  who 
had  been  called  in  consultation  to  minister  to  her 
listlessness  and  loss  of  appetite,  had  failed  to  make 
a  satisfactory  diagnosis. 

It  was  the  coming  of  this  same  good  doctor  that 
disturbed  her  melancholy  reverie  now.  As  Blodgett 
announced  him,  the  girl  made  a  gesture  of  distraction 
and  slipped  behind  the  heavy  draperies  of  the  window. 

"I  don't  want  to  see  him,  Blodgett!" 

"Very  well,  miss." 

Blodgett  made  this  response  meekly  enough,  but 
he  pointed  to  the  curtain  as  Doctor  Thayer  came  to- 
ward the  piano,  and  departed,  with  the  feeling  that 
he  had  done  his  full  duty. 

"Well,"  remarked  the  doctor,  looking  at  the  win- 
dow drapery,  "I've  had  patients  hate  me  so  that  they 
pulled  the  bed-clothes  over  their  heads  at  the  sight 
of  me.  But  I've  never  had  one  wrap  herself  up  in 
the  drawing-room  curtains.  .  .  .  Come,  now !  Stick 
out  your  tongue  and  I'll  be  satisfied  I" 

There  was  no  response.  So,  after  waiting  a  mo- 
ment, he  thrust  the  curtain  aside  and  seizing  Mar- 
jorie playfully  by  the  arm,  drew  her  out  of  the  recess. 

"Please  leave  me  alone,"  she  pleaded.  "I  am  not 
your  patient." 


LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY  269 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are.  I'm  the  house  physician.  I  at- 
tend everything  in  it,  from  the  Great  Mogul  himself 
— down  to  the  cat." 

"We  haven't  a  cat  now,"  she  corrected  him.  "I 
gave  it  away.  It  frightened  the  canaries." 

"But  we  have  a  kitten,"  he  rejoined,  laughing. 
"And  the  Great  Mogul  telephoned  me  that  the  kitten 
was  sick." 

"If  you  mean  me,  I'm  not  sick." 

"You're  not  feeling  very  frisky,  my  dear.  You've 
lost  your  appetite,  and  you  won't  go  out,  even  in  your 
brand-new,  big  red  car." 

"A  red  car!"  she  broke  in,  listlessly. 

"Ah!  You  don't  like  the  color  of  it?  We'll 
have  it  changed.  What  do  you  say  to  a  nice  sky- 
blue?" 

"I  don't  want  a  car,"  she  declared,  wearily.  "I 
don't  want  any  of  those  horrid  expensive  things.  I 
don't  want  to  be  rich.  I  want  to  be  poor." 

"Then  you  are  sick!"  replied  the  doctor,  with  con- 
viction. "Now — this  loss  of  appetite.  We'll  have 
to  stimulate  your  desire  for  food  a  little — humor  your 
palate.  To  begin  with,  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  tonic. 
It  is  very  pleasant  to  the  taste."  He  began  to  write 
a  prescription.  "Your  father  says  you  ate  no  dinner 
to-night!  I'm  going  to  order  you  a  supper  to  be 


270  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

eaten  on  top  of  this  nice  cocktail  I'm  mixing  for 
you." 

"I  don't  like  cocktails,"  she  interrupted,  "and  why 
should  I  eat  if  I'm  not  hungry?" 

"Here  is  what  you  are  to  have,"  he  went  on  cheer- 
fully. "Clam  broth,  white  meat  of  the  chicken,  aspar- 
agus tips  on  toast,  and,  if  you  like,  you  may  have 
vanilla  ice-cream  and  lady-fingers.  No  tea — no 
coffee.  I  put  you  on  your  honor.  I'll  tell  Blodgett, 
as  I  go  out,  to  give  your  menue  to  the  chef!  The 
prescription  I'll  leave  at  the  drug  store  myself  and 
have  it  sent  around  to  you  in  a  jiffy !" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  took  it  with  a  smile, 
saying:  "Thank  you  for  coming!" 

"A  pleasure,  I'm  sure !  Now,  be  a  good  girl,"  he 
admonished;  "take  your  medicine  and  eat  only  what 
I've  ordered.  I'll  drop  in  again  to-morrow."  Mar- 
jorie  made  a  wry  face.  "Good-night,"  he  concluded, 
laughing  at  her.  "My  regards  to  your  father." 

Alone  again,  Marjorie  walked  slowly  back  to  the 
casement,  and  settled  there  into  the  cushions,  with 
chin  upturned  to  the  attic,  like  a  drooping  little  white 
flower  to  the  sun. 

Presently  the  voice  of  Blodgett,  announcing  a  vis- 
itor, disturbed  her.  The  butler  was  saying,  with  pro- 
nounced superciliousness:  "Miss  Marjorie,  that  old 


LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY  271 

person  from  next  door — is  here  again.  Ke  insists — 
he  must  see  you!" 

The  girl  turned  eagerly.  "Yes,  yes  I  Where  is 
he  ?  I  want  to  see  him — at  once." 

Blodgett  was  too  well-trained  to  make  an  exhibi- 
tion of  his  feelings,  but  he  plainly  disapproved.  He 
shook  his  head  surreptitiously  as  he  returned  to  usher 
in  the  shy  and  shabby  visitor. 

It  was  Primrose,  of  course.  He  regarded  the  dig- 
nified Blodgett  with  some  awe  but  no  admiration. 
He  had  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  superiority 
vested  in  that  individual  by  the  great  Morris  Caner, 
but  there  was  something  which  the  old  man  thought 
unnecessarily  disagreeable  about  him.  He  held  the 
belief  that,  but  for  the  ill  turns  of  fortune,  he  was 
quite  as  good  intrinsically  as  that  well-fed  butler. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Primrose  could  remember  when 
he  was  still  better  fed,  certainly  more  smart.  With 
that  thought  he  straightened  himself  up  and  made 
quite  a  dignified  entrance  into  the  drawing-room,  de- 
spite the  fact  that  he  wore  the  dilapidated  overcoat 
which  a  festive  master  many  years  before  had  sported 
at  the  races,  and  carried  a  quaint  old  derby  out  of 
fashion  these  many  years.  They  were  ancient  friends, 
however,  and  had  served  him  well  through  innumer- 
able winters. 


272  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

Apparently  Primrose  had  given  more  than  casual 
attention  to  his  appearance.  His  mop  of  grey  hair 
was  plastered  down  severely,  and  his  wrinkled  face 
shone  as  clean  and  as  bright  as  a  polished  door-knob. 
For  the  moment  he  would  have  been  quite  happy 
were  it  not  for  the  presence  of  that  disturbing,  not 
to  say  overbearing,  butler. 

A  broad  smile  of  simple  adoration  adorned  his 
face  as  he  saw  Marjorie  coming  toward  him.  He 
bobbed  to  her  respectfully. 

"Good  evenin',  miss,"  he  began.  "Mr.  Quintard 
says  to  me " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  greeted  him. 
•"I've  been  so  anxious!" 

"Mr.  Quintard  says  to  me,"  repeated  Primrose, 
determined  that  he  should  not  forget  one  syllable  of 
that  important  message,  "he  says:  'you  go  across  the 
room  and  leave  'em  at  her  window.'  ' 

Whereupon  he  extracted  from  a  cavernous  pocket 
of  the  great  coat  a  pathetic-looking  bunch  of  violets. 
It  was  a  small  bunch,  and  crumpled,  but  still  fresh. 
The  old  man  gave  the  flowers  a  shake  to  straighten 
them  out  again,  and  placed  them  in  the  girl's  willing 
hand. 

On  the  verge  of  tears,  Marjorie  took  the  violets 
and  held  them  closely  to  her  cheek  for  a  moment. 


LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY  273 

then   slipped   them   into    the   girdle   of    her   dress. 

"You  see,"  continued  Primrose,  "Mr.  Quintard 
didn't  know  I  was  goin'  to  see  you.  He  doesn't  know 
I've  ever  seen  you  since — he  moved,  that  night." 

"He  is  quite  comfortable  now — with  your  sister- 
in-law?"  she  asked. 

"With  my  sister-in-law's  aunt,"  corrected  Prim- 
rose. "Yes,  miss.  It's  a  very  clean  little  garret  he 
has  there,  but  I  do  miss  the  sight  o'  your  curtains 
and  fixin's.  And  he  has  a  fine  view  from  his  win- 
dow, too.  At  night  he  can  see  one  of  them  big  ad- 
vertising signs.  It's  a  bottle  of  beer" — Primrose's 
tone  grew  warm — "pourin'  itself  into  a  glass." 

"That  must  be  very  interesting,"  she  smiled. 

"It  is.  It's  so  natural.  It  makes  me  thirsty  to 
look  at  it." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Primrose,  you  must  give  me  Mr. 
Quintard's  address.  I  want  to  return  his  manu- 
script." 

Marjorie  took  a  pencil  from  the  table  and  prepared 
to  write. 

Primrose  glanced  sideways  to  see  if  she  was  ready. 

"It's  McDougal  alley,  miss — number  417 " 

"417,"  she  repeated,  as  she  wrote  it  down. 

"And  a  half,"  he  added. 

"Oh,  417  and  a  half  McDougal  alley?" 


274  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"That's  right,  miss." 

She  took  out  her  pocketbook  and  in  silence  offered 
a  five-dollar  bill  to  him.  He  shook  his  head  in  smil- 
ing refusal. 

"It's  very  good  of  you,  and  I  thank  you  kindly, 
miss,"  he  said.  "But  it's  no  use." 

"No  use?    Why  not?" 

"Well,  miss,"  explained  Primrose,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  had  a  rather  difficult  story  to  tell,  "you  know 
that  ten  dollars  you  gave  me  for  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  tried  to  get  him  to  borrow  it  off  me — 
and  he  wouldn't;  and  off  my  sister-in-law's  aunt — 
and  he  wouldn't.  But  the  next  day  I  had  an  idea. 
You  know  when  people  die  their  names  are  put  in 
the  papers.  Sometimes  a  bit  o'  poetry  goes  with  'em. 
So  I  says  to  Mr.  Quintard:  'A  friend  o'  mine  has 
jus'  died  an'  his  wife'll  give  ten  dollars  if  you'll  write 
a  piece  o'  poetry  about  him,  tellin'  what  a  great  man 
he  was  and  what  a  loss  he'd  been  to  his  family,  so  she 
can  stick  it  in  the  papers.'  And  Mr.  Quintard  bit, 
miss — he  did !  He  got  the  ten  dollars — he  earned  it ! 
I've  got  the  poetry.  Every  time  I  read  it,  it  makes 
me  cry.  I'm  goin'  to  keep  it  an'  have  it  stuck  in  the 
papers  when  I  croak!" 

As  Primrose  finished  this  original  narrative,  he  put 


LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY  275 

a  corner  of  the  precious  many-colored  handkerchief 
to  his  eyes. 

"What  a  dear  old  fraud  you  are,"  said  Marjorie 
gently.  "You  must  take  this  money.  You're  so  in- 
genius,  you  can  surely  find  a  way  to  make  him  accept 
it!" 

"But  he  ain't  needin'  it  now,  miss,"  protested 
Primrose.  "The  rent  ain't  much,  and  he  don't  eat 
nothin'  to  speak  of.  Would  you  believe  it,  his  appe- 
tite is  so  poor " 

The  old  man  broke  off  suddenly,  as  from  the  tail 
of  his  eye  he  glimpsed  the  austere  Blodgett,  who  had 
silently  entered  the  room,  bearing  a  small  tray  with 
a  bottle  on  it  which  had  every  appearance  of  being 
fresh  from  the  drug  store.  This  he  now  offered 
Marjorie,  with  never  a  glance  in  Primrose's  humble 
direction. 

"Your  medicine,  Miss  Marjorie  I" 

She  took  the  bottle  and  dismissed  the  butler.  She 
seemed  to  be  thinking.  "You  say  Mr.  Quintard's 
appetite  is  poor,  Primrose?" 

"Werry  poor,  miss !  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  but 
he  turns  up  his  nose  at  boiled  beef  and  cabbage.  He 
don't  care  nothin'  for  food  no  more!" 

Marjorie  quickly  unwrapped  the  medicine  bottle 
and  her  manner  reflected  the  professional  air  of  her 


276  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

father's  physician.  "We'll  have  to  stimulate  Mr. 
QuJntard's  desire  for  food,"  she  declared,  "and  at 
the  same  time  make  things  easy  for  his  tummy.  To 
begin  with,  we'll  give  him  this  tonic.  Tell  him  it's 
pleasant  to  the  taste.  The  drections  are  there.  I've 
only  scratched  off  my  name." 

The  old  man  thanked  her  and  put  the  bottle  in  his 
pocket. 

"Now,  we  must  humor  his  palate,"  she  went  on. 
"For  supper  to-night,  we'll  give  him  clam  broth  clear, 
the  white  meat  of  chicken,  asparagus  tips  on  toast, 
vanilla  ice-cream  and  lady-fingers." 

Primrose  was  nonplussed.  "But  where  am  I  to 
get  them,  miss?" 

"Come  back  in  an  hour  and  I'll  have  Mr.  Quin- 
tard's  supper  ready  for  you.  You  could  take  it  to. 
him  in  a  basket,  couldn't  you  ?" 

"I  could,  miss — only "  He  hesitated.  "I'm 

afraid  the  Great  She-Bear  won't  leave  me  off  1" 

Marjorie  looked  girlishly  imperious,  every  inch  a 
Caner.  "Then  you  must  leave  her,"  she  commanded. 
"I  intended  to  speak  to  you  about  this  before.  I 
want  to  engage  you  as  my  footman — to  run  errands 
for  me,  bathe  the  canaries,  exercise  the  dogs,  and 
keep  the  squirrels  from  fighting.  I  don't  know  the 
wages  of  a  footman,  but  you  shall  have  them." 


LOVE  SEEKS  THE  WAY  277 

"Oh,  miss,"  cried  the  grateful  Primrose,  clasping 
his  hands  in  ecstasy.  "It  would  be  like  heaven  to  be 
your  footman.  I — I " 

But  he  could  not  go  on.  Tears  were  always  rather 
hear  the  surface  with  him  and  he  let  them  flow  freely 
now. 

"Your  footman!    Your  footman!"  he  sobbed. 

"There,  there,  Primrose!  Don't  cry!"  begged 
Marjorie.  "You're  engaged.  You  must  take  this 
five  dollars.  It  is  for  you.  The  basket,  with  the 
supper,  will  be  ready  in  an  hour.  And — and  I  want 
you  to  come  and  see  me  to-morrow  at  noon." 

"Thank  you — thank  you  very  kindly,  miss." 

Primrose  would  probably  have  said  much  more. 
But  at  this  instant,  through  his  mist  of  tears,  he  saw 
Morris  Caner  and  Romney  Evans  come  into  the 
room,  and  he  felt  that  retreat  was  indicated. 

Even  when  he  was  out  of  the  room,  however,  seek- 
ing the  servants'  hall  to  wait  for  the  supper  that  was 
to  be  ready  in  an  hour,  he  still  kept  on  repeating  rap- 
turously: "Her  footman!  Her  footman!" 

There  was  at  least  one  happy  person  in  the  great 
Caner  house  that  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MORRIS  CANER  HEARS  A  CONFESSION. 

WHAT'S  that  old  ragamuffin  doing  here?" 
demanded  Caner,  irritably.  "Who  is  he?'* 
"I've  engaged  him  as  my  footman,"  re- 
plied Marjorie,  calmly. 

Her  reply  did  not  soothe  the  ruffl'ed  millionaire. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  stormed.  "You  don't  suppose 
I  want  a  tramp  like  that  about  my  house?" 

"That  will  be  all  right,  Morris,"  put  in  Romney 
Evans,  laughing.  "He'll  take  charge  of  the  men- 
agerie." 

"Menagerie!  Yes!"  grumbled  Caner.  "This  thing 
has  to  stop !  Every  time  I  come  down  stairs,  I  fall 
over  some  strange  animal." 

Marjorie  laughed  mischievously,  and  half  pushed, 
half-led  her  father  to  the  big  throne-chair  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"I'm  sorry,  papa,  but  the  puppies  are  all  so  young 
yet.  When  they  grow  up,  they'll  learn  to  keep  out 
of  your  way." 

278 


CANER  HEARS  A  CONFESSION      279 

Caner,  growling  and  protesting,  allowed  her  to 
push  him  into  the  big  chair. 

Then  she  lifted  the  big,  round  blue  pillow  in  the 
chair  behind  him,  gave  it  a  few  magic  pokes  and 
shakes  that  softened  and  plumped  it  out,  and  adjusted 
it  to  her  father's  back  with  a  skill  that  brought  from 
him  a  grunt  of  satisfaction. 

"There,  papa!     That's  better — isn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  he  returned  grudgingly.  "The 
way  you  fix  them.  But  I  don't  like  the  things." 

"That's  because  you  haven't  had  any  one  to  make 
you  comfy.  Now,  put  your  poor  foot  on  the 
stool !" 

The  good  humored  affection  of  the  girl  had 
thawed  the  ice-crust  on  Morris  Caner's  disposition — 
partly,  at  least.  He  allowed  his  daughter  to  lift  his 
leg  and  arrange  his  rheumatic  foor  on  the  stool, 
while  a  not  very  hard  smile  came  over  his 
features. 

Morris  would  not  have  confessed  it  but  he  found 
himself  wondering  why  he  had  deprived  himself  of 
such  an  adorable  companion  for  so  many  years?  He 
was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  confess  that  he  ever  made 
mistakes.  But,  watching  the  dainty,  white-clad  figure, 
as  she  hovered  about  him,  ready  to  anticipate  his 
every  wish,  he  muttered  deeply  in  his  soul  that  she 


28o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

was  "every  inch  a  Caner,"  and  he  was  proud  of  her. 
But  it  was  not  in  him  to  mention  it. 

Suddenly,  with  a  girlish  exclamation  of  pleasure, 
Marjorie  darted  from  his  side  and  vanished  behind 
him.  The  fact  that  he  could  not  easily  move  from 
the  kingly  throne,  in  which  she  had  seated  him,  ruffled 
Caner  anew. 

"What  is  it,  Marjorie?"  he  asked  impatiently. 

But  the  girl  did  not  reply.  Her  quick  ear  had 
caught  the  sound  of  a  welcome  arrival.  She  was 
already  in  the  hall  and  her  voice  rang  out  above 
Blodgett's  discrete  murmur: 

"Oh,  Papa  .Sewall!  Papa  Sewall!"  she  cried. 
"Tell  me!  Have  you  read  Mr.  Quintard's 
opera?" 

Caner  listened  to  Sewall's  answering  barytone: 
"Yes,  my  child!  Old  Papa  Sewall  has  read  it!  So 
have  the  other  members  of  the  committee.  I  saw 
to  that !"  By  this  time  the  pair  of  conspirators  were 
entering  the  room. 

"What's  that?"  barked  Caner  from  his  chair. 

"One  moment,  papa !"  begged  the  daughter.  Then, 
to  Sewall:  "Well?  Well?  What  do  you  think  of  it? 
Isn't  it  wonderful  ?" 

"I'm  sorry,"  answered  the  composer.  "The  com- 
mittee won't  have  it — the  way  it  is  I" 


CANER  HEARS  A  CONFESSION      281 

"Won't  have  it?"  repeated  Marjorie,  her  voice 
barely  audible  in  her  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment. "Why,  that's  impossible!  It's  too  beauti- 
ful!" 

"Fine!  Fine!"  agreed  Sewall,  heartily.  "Yes, 
yes !  That's  what  we  all  thought — until  we  come  to 
the  last  act" 

"The  last  act?"1 

"Yes.  And  what  does  your  jackass  of  an  author  do 
then  ?  He  ruins  his  story  by  ending  it  tragically.  The 
thing  calls  for  a  happy  ending." 

"But  it  does  end  happily!"  protested  Marjorie, 
puzzled. 

"You're  wrong!  You're  wrong!  I'll  prove  it. 
I'll  show  you  the  original  manuscript." 

On  the  table  lay  the  opera  as  it  had  left  Tony's 
hands.  Marjorie  had  been  reading  it  that  evening, 
as  she  had  done  many  times  during  die  past  week. 
She  snatched  it  up  and  brought  it  over  to  Sewall. 

Morris  Caner,  keenly  aware  of  the  important 
bustle  in  which  he  had  no  part,  shifted  uneasily  in 
his  throne-chair,  and  called  out,  irritably: 

"Marjorie!  Marjorie!  What's  all  this  row 
about  anyway?" 

"Just  a  second,  papa!"  was  her  reply.  "I'm 
busy!" 


282  THE  CANDERELLA  MAN 

Caner  relapsed  into  exasperated  silence* 

Sewall,  with  a  casual  wave  to  Caner,  settled 
himself  down  on  the  davenport  to  read  the  manu- 
script. Caner  regarded  the  proceeding  with  extreme 
disfavor. 

"What's  Marjorie  got  to  do  with  the  opera  of  a 
man  I  never  heard  of?"  he  grunted. 

"I've  had  it  typewritten  for  him,"  explained  Mar- 
jorie. 

"You  had  it  typewritten  for  him?" 

"Yes,  papa  dear!    Grayson  did  it — perfectly  I" 

"Oh,  you  don't  say!"  Caner  was  sarcastic.  "Ne- 
glected my  business  to  typewrite  an  opera.  And  for 
whom,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"A  friend  of  mine,"  said  the  voice  of  Romney, 
who  had  been  sitting  at  the  piano,  abstractedly  turn- 
ing over  sheet-music. 

"A  real  man  of  talent !"  chipped  in  Sewall. 

"A1  genius !"  agreed  Marjorie  warmly. 

"A  genius,  eh!  What's  his  name?"  Caner  asked 
this  sharply. 

"Quintard,"  replied  Romney. 

"Anthony  Quintard,"  supplemented  Marjorie. 

"Never  heard  of  him !"  was  the  final  way  in  which 
the  millionaire  dismissed  Tony  as  an  unknown  and 
unimportant  individual. 


CANER  HEARS  A  CONFESSION      283 

"You  will  hear  of  him,"  said  Sewall,  emphatcally, 
from  the  davenport. 

"Yes,  the  whole  world  will,"  was  Marjorie's  as- 
sertion, her  eyes  bright  with  enthusiasm  as  she  looked 
at  the  composer. 

"Where  did  you  meet  him?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know!"  insisted  her  father.  "Romney  introduce 
you?" 

"No,"  she  answered. 

"Yes,"  said  Romney,  simultaneously. 

"Yes!  No !"  barked  Caner.  "What  am  I  to  be- 
lieve?" 

Romney  came  strolling  over  from  the  piano  ?nd 
stood  in  front  of  his  ill-tempered  friend. 

"He's  perfectly  all  right." 

"He's  a  very  nice  young  man,"  added  Marjorie. 
"Isn't  he,  Romney?" 

"The  best  in  the  world." 

"Did  you  introduce  them?"  demanded  Caner,  ad- 
dressing himself  impatiently  to  Romney. 

"I  told  them  about  each  other." 

"You  see,  papa,"  explained  Marjorie.  "We  were 
neighbors.  He  lived  next  door " 

"There?"  inquired  her  father  with  real  surprise, 
pointing  to  the  window. 


284  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Yes.  We — we  became  acquainted.  It  is  only  a 
step  across  the  roof  to  his  window." 

"Good  Lord!"  ejaculated  Caner. 

"Good  work!"  suddenly  came  from  the  lips  of 
Albeit  Sewall,  in  reference  to  the  opera  in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  THRESHOLD  OF  ROMANCE. 


«T"^ON'T  you  love  the  opera,  Papa  Sewall?" 
1  called  out  Marjorie,  entirely  forgetting  her 
irate  father  for  the  moment. 

"Fine!"  returned  Sewall,  without  lifting  his  eyes 
from  the  manuscript. 

"I  suppose  you  stood  at  your  w  idow,  making  eyes 
at  him?"  inquired  Caner,  return?  g  to  the  charge. 

"No,"  returned  Marjorie,  ignoring  the  sarcasm, 
"I  climbed  across  the  roof  to  his  window." 

"Romney!"  exploded  the  millionaire,  "the  girl's 
made  a  fool  of  herself!" 

"Oh,  piffle  I"  was  all  Romney  vouchsafed  in  reply. 

Marjorie  looked  in  distress  from  one  to  the  other 
as  she  asked  naively: 

"Have  I  done  anything  I  shouldn't?" 

"Have  you  done  anything  you  shouldn't!"  thun- 
dered her  father.  "You  scrape  acquaintance  with  this 
Quintard  person  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner!" 

285 


286          THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"It  was  the  best  way  I  knew/'  she  protested. 

"Perfectly  good  way!*1  pronounced  Romncy, 
coolly. 

"I  wonder  what  the  man  must  have  thought  of 
you!"  said  Caner,  with  scandalized  emphasis. 

"He  was  very  grateful  to  me.  I  helped  him  with 
his  opera." 

"It's  a  wonder  he  didn't  make  violent  love  to  you." 

"I  wish  he  had." 

Marjorie  made  this  dreadful  admission  in  a  very 
low  voice,  but  Morris  Caner  and  Romney  both  heard 
it. 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Romney?"  yelled  Morris.  "Do 
you  hear  that?" 

"She's  honest,"  laughed  Romney.    "Like  father." 

"He  never  made  the  tiniest  bit  of  love  to  me," 
said  Marjorie,  rather  mournfully. 

"Why  didn't  he?"  demanded  Caner,  shifting  his 
ground  abruptly.  "Doesn't  he  like  your  looks?" 

"He  likes  my  eyes"  answered  Marjorie,  simply. 
"He  said  so." 

"Oh,  he  likes  your  eyes?" 

"But  he's  very  poor — and  fearfully  proud." 

"This  chap's  an  artist!"  ejaculated  Sewall,  still  in- 
tent on  the  opera. 

"Oh,  Papa  Sewall!"  exclaimed  Marjorie,  taking  a 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  ROMANCE    287 

step  toward  him,  but  stopping  as  her  father's  harsh 
tones  fell  on  her  ear. 

"Artist?"  he  sneered.  "Scribbler!  After  you  for 
my  money !  Marjorie,  I  tell  you,  yon  shan't  many 
a  beggarly " 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  she  interrupted.  "He  may 
be  fond  of  me.  But  when  he  learns  that  I  am  your 
daughter,  m  never  see  him  again!" 

"Oh!  He  objects  to  your  father,  eh?"  spluttered 
Caner.  "Who  does  he  think  yon  are,  anyway?* 

"I  told  him  I  was  the  companion  of  your  daughter. 
I  had  to.  Tony  does  not  want  his  wife  to  support 
tarn,.  He  wants  to  support  her.  .  .  .  Oh !"  she  cried, 
in  sudden  supplication :  "Be  a  good,  dear  papa,  end 
disinherit  me!" 

Moms  Caner  came  boning  out  of  the  throne-chair 
at  this.  He  was  accustomed  to  concealing  his  emo- 
tions— for  business  reasons.  But  this  remarkable 
prayer  of  his  inexplicable  daughter  had  hurled  him 
completely  off  his  hafanri*,  and  he  could  no  longer 
bear  to  sit  stflL 

"What?— what?"  he  gasped.    "Say  that  again!" 

"Disimktrit  me !  Then  I  can  go  to  Tony  and  tell 
him  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the  world.  So— so  hell  just 
have  to  many  roe. 

"You're  out  of  your  mindl"  shouted  her  father, 


288  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

stalking  up  and  down,  regardless  of  his  lame  foot. 
"So  is  he!" 

"You're  out  of  your  mind  yourself,  Morris,"  in- 
terposed Romney,  in  his  exasperatingly  cool  way. 
"Take  my  advice.  Disinherit  Marjorie,  and  let  her 
marry  Quintard." 

"I  will  not  disinherit  her!"  bawled  Caner. 

"Oh,  please  do !"  begged  Marjorie. 

"Look  here !"  said  Romney,  earnestly.  "Any  one 
who  can  make  your  daughter  love  him,  is  a  man ! 
Let  her  have  her  way.  You  won't  make  any  mis- 
take." 

"I  will  not  disinherit  her!"  repeated  Caner. 

"Oh,  please  do?"  besought  Marjorie. 

"Good  God !  Isn't  it  bad  enough  to  think  of  your 
marrying — going  away  from  me — just  when  I've 
found  that  I  want  to — to  have  you  near  me?" 

"Oh,  papa!" 

He  took  her  hand  and  stroked  it  affectionately. 
Then,  as  if  ashamed  of  what  he  seemed  to  think  senti- 
mental weakness,  he  dropped  the  hand  and  strode 
about  the  room  before  he  continued,  in  a  softer  tone, 
ns  he  faced  her  again: 

"My  dear,  don't  refuse  me  the  one  thing  I  can  do 
for  you.  Let  me  look  after  you — make  you  happy. 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  ROMANCE    289 

I  want  to  give  you  the  biggest  bank  account  of  any 
girl  in  America !" 

"Oh,  dear,  papa !  You  are  going  to  spoil  every- 
thing !  Tony  won't  have  me  rich!" 

"What  right  has  this  young  snip  to  let  a  matter 
of  money  stand  between  him  and  a  girl  like  you?"  he 
thundered.  "It's  absurd  I" 

"No,  it's  common  sense,"  interfered  Romney. 
"Marjorie  has  found  her  own  romance.  Let  her 
have  it." 

"And  how  did  she  find  it?"  retorted  Caner.  "By 
flirting  with  this  young  man  on  the  roof !  .  .  .  Mar- 
jorie," he  went  on,  sternly,  "I  positively  forbid  you 
to  cross  that  roof  again." 

"Very  well,  papa.  I  won't."  Then  very  demurely 
she  added:  "He's  moved  1" 

Caner  choked.    He  tried  to  speak,  but  couldn't. 

Albert  Sewall  made  a  diversion  at  this  awkward 
moment  by  coming  from  the  davenport,  slapping  the 
manuscript  of  the  opera  with  the  backs  of  his  long 
fingers. 

"It's  a  little  masterpiece !"  he  bubbled.  "A  master- 
piece, I  tell  you !" 

Marjorie  jumped  up  and  down,  waving  a  hand  over 
her  head  in  delight. 

"Oh,  Romney!    He  likes  it!    He  likes  it!" 


29o  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"But  Quintard  must  restore  the  last  act  as  it  is 
here,  or — or — I'll  poison  him  !" 

"You'll  give  him  the  prize,  then?"  said  Romney, 
eager  to  commit  the  composer  to  any  indiscretion,  if 
it  were  only  to  Tony's  advantage. 

"The  ten  thousand  dollars?"  persisted  Marjorie. 

"I  promise  nothing,"  smiled  Sewall.  "I  know 
these  authors." 

Blodgett,  the  phlegmatic,  came  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  stood  silent  for  an  instant.  Then  he  an- 
nounced, monotonously: 

"A  Mr.  Quintard,  to  see  Mr.  Sewall." 

Marjorie  started  breathlessly.  "Tony!"  The 
word  came  out  of  her  heart,  where  it  was  the  most 
familiar  of  all  words. 

She  had  already  turned  to  run  out  of  the  room 
when  her  father  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm.  His  voice 
was  not  altogether  unkind,  but  it  was  suspicious,  as  he 
asked: 

"Marjorie,  what  is  that  young  man  doing  here?" 

"/  sent  for  him,"  announced  Romney.  "And  for 
a  very  good  reason." 

"H'm !  More  of  your  conniving,"  accused  Caner. 
"I'll  see  this  young  man !" 

"Oh,  papa!" 

"He  asked  for  me — not  you !"  objected  Sewall. 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  ROMANCE    291 

Caner  turned  on  him  with  his  autocratic  way  and 
retorted:  "This  is  my  house!" 

Romney  whispered  slyly  to  Sewall,  who  countered 
with: 

"But  this  is  my  affair!  The  young  man  wants  to 
talk  opera — not  railroads." 

"You  can  have  Mr.  Quintard  when  I've  finished 
with  him !"  was  Caner's  dictum. 

"I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  finish  him,"  laughed 
Sewall,  as  he  left  the  room. 

Marjorie  looked  from  her  father  to  Romney  and 
back  again,  with  a  timid  little  sigh. 

"Now,  clear  out — all  of  you !"  Caner  ordered. 

"Papa!    Please!" 

"That  means  you,  too,  N  arjorie!"  was  his  re- 
minder. Then,  to  Blodgett:  "Ask  Mr.  Quintard  to 
come  in." 

As  Blodgett  bowed  and  disappeared,  Marjorie 
went  up  to  her  father  and  clung  to  his  arm  for  a 
moment,  as  she  looked  pleadingly  up  into  his  face. 

"You'll  be  very  gentle  with  him,  papa — won't 
you?" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  he  returned,  impatiently.  "Go 
away!" 

"Marjorie !"  called  Romney,  from  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  library. 


292  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

She  followed  Romney,  but  just  before  she  went 
out  she  whispered  into  her  father's  ear: 

"Don't  let  him  know  that  I  am  Marjorie.  He 
thinks  I  am  his — his  fairy  godmother!" 

"His  what?" 

There  was  still  a  bewildered  look  on  Morris  Can- 
er's  face  when,  Marjorie  and  Romney  having  van- 
ished, Blodgett  ushered  Tony  Quintard  into  the 
drawing-room,  with  just  such  an  expression  as  a  Ro- 
man soldier  might  have  worn  while  passing  a  Chris- 
tian martyr  into  a  den  of  lions. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ON  COMMON  GROUND. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  rigidity  of  Mor- 
ris CanerY  attitude,  Tony  Quintard  seemed 
to  be  entirely  at  his  ease.  He  smiled  benignly 
on  the  multi-millionaire  as  he  said,  with  boylish 
frankness : 

"You  don't  look  like  a  composer!" 

"What  do  you  think  I  look  like?"  was  the  cool 
rejoinder. 

Tony  indulged  in  a  good  long  stare  at  the  other's 
stern  face,  and  shook  his  head,  as  he  asked,  smiling : 

"Is  that  a  fair  question?" 

"Evidently  I  am  not  making  a  favorable  impres- 
sion," was  the  millionaire's  gruff  comment. 

"No,  no.    It  isn't  that,"  disclaimed  Tony,  hastily. 

Caner,  in  his  grim  way,  enjoyed  the  obvious  dis- 
comfiture of  his  caller.  Tony  had  begun  to  realize 
that  something  was  wrong  somewhere. 

293 


294  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

"Well,  I'm  not  a  musician,"  shortly  confessed 
Caner. 

"I  don't  understand,"  returned  Tony,  looking 
about  him.  "Mr.  Romney  Evans  sent  his  car  after 
me  with  a  message  that  I  was  to  come  here  to  meet 
Mr.  Sewall,  about  my — my  opera." 

"Mr.  Sewall  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  I  am 
Morris  Caner!" 

"Morris  Caner?" 

"Yes." 

"This  is  your  house?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah  I"  ejaculated  Tony,  who  had  recovered  his 
equanimity  now  that  he  knew  he  was  only  talking  to 
a  money  king — not  to  a  great  musician.  "Do  you 
know,  I  thought  there  was  something  familiar  about 
this  street  as  we  drove  up.  I  used  to  be  a — a  neigh- 
bor of  yours." 

"You  don't  say,"  responded  Caner,  cynically. 

"Yes." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Tony  Quintard,  burning 
with  anxiety  to  learn  the  verdict  of  his  opera,  wished 
this  man  of  millions  would  get  out,  to  make  room 
for  somebody  more  interesting — Albert  Sewall,  the 
composer,  to  wit.  But  Caner  showed  no  disposition 
to  go.  On  the  contrary,  he  leaned  easily  against  the 


ON  COMMON  GROUND  295 

immense  grand  piano  with  the  air  of  one  who  had 
settled  down  for  a  long  stay. 

"Don't  let  me  keep  you,  Mr.  Canerl"  said  Tony, 
a  trifle  nervously.  "And  time,  like  yours,  must  be 
valuable,  even  in  the  evening." 

"I  have  nothing  else  to  do,"  interrupted  Caner. 
Then,  as  Tony  continued  to  pace  between  the  piano 
and  the  fireplace,  he  said,  abruptly  and  with  a  note 
of  command  in  his  tones:  "Sit  down!" 

"Thanks !"  Tony  waited  a  moment  while  his  host 
seated  himself,  and  then  dropped  down  on  the  carved 
stool  that  had  recently  supported  the  minnionaire's 
rheumatic  leg. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds,  while  Caner 
gazed  at  Tony,  who  returned  the  look  just  as  steadily. 

"You  don't  look  like  a  poet,"  remarked  Caner, 
abruptly. 

"I  hope  not,"  laughed  Tony. 

"But  you  are  a  poet — aren't  you?" 

"I  write  verse,  and  other  things." 

"Think  your  work's  pretty  important — don't  you?" 

"I  think  it's  pretty  good — sometimes." 

"Feel  at  all  uncertain  about  your  ability?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  was  the  prompt  rejoinder. 

There  was  another  little  silence  after  this.  Caner 
felt  that  he  was  not  sweeping  this  confident  young 


296  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

fellow  off  his  feet,  as  perhaps  he  had  expected  to  do. 

He  returned  to  the  charge  with  the  quiet  savage- 
ness  that  he  had  often  found  effective  in  dealing  with 
men  in  Wall  Street: 

"A  young  man  with  your  assurance  ought  to  go 
into  business." 

"Not  this  young  man,"  returned  Tony,  positively. 

"You  poets  don't  think  much  of  the  business  man. 
I  have  heard  that." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Caner.  We  think  a  lot 
of  him.  It's  quite  a  stunt  to  make  a  pile  of  money. 
I've  often  wondered  how  it  is  done." 

"I  can  tell  you,"  snapped  Morris,  his  face  harden- 
ing. "Foresight!  That's  how  I  made  my  money — 
foresight!  In  my  mind,  I  saw  that  steel  would  be 
the  biggest  thing  in  this  country.  I  watched  my 
chances — got  in  on  the  ground  floor.  It  panned  out 
bigger  than  I  had  even  dreamed." 

"Ah!  Dreamed  it!"  exclaimed  Tony,  laughing,  as 
if  he  thoroughly  understood.  "That's  it!  You 
dreamed  it — imagined  it !  That's  how  we  all  begin. 
Poet  or  millionaire,  it  is  the  same  story!  We  all  see 
it  here  first  of  all." 

He  tapped  his  forehead,  and  Morris  Caner  nodded 
in  acquiescence.  This  young  man  was  interesting,  at 
all  events. 


ON  COMMON  GROUND  297 

"Well,  well,  Mr.  Quintard.  That  puts  us  in  the 
same  boat." 

"Yes!"  Tony's  boyish  laugh  rang  out.  "I  sing 
while  you  row." 

"But  your  singing  doesn't  pay  you  as  well  as  my 
rowing  pays  me,"  rejoined  Caner,  sagely,  adding  sly- 
ly: "You  are  a  clever  young  man.  You  ought  to 
marry  into  a  wealthy  family." 

"Did  you?"  asked  Tony,  quickly. 

The  shot  had  struck  home,  it  seemed,  for  Caner, 
rising  suddenly  and  avoiding  Tony  Quintard's  eye, 
replied  with  booming  emphasis : 

"No!" 

Tony  calmly  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other, 
watching  the  millionaire.  Then  he  uncrossed  it,  and 
rising  to  his  feet,  said  deliberately: 

"That's  how  I  feel  about  it,  Mr.  Caner." 

The  millionaire's  back  was  toward  Tony  as  the 
latter  expressed  his  sentiments  on  matrimony.  But, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  during  which  his  mind 
was  working  busily,  he  turned  around  thoughtfully: 
"We  were  talking  just  now — about  money,"  he  con- 
tinued with  a  more  friendly  tone.  "Shall  I  tell  you 
how  I  made  mine?" 

"You  did  tell  me — just  now.    By  foresight." 

"That  is  true.    But  I  mean  to  give  you  a  few  de- 


298  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

tails.  It  might  interest  you.  I  made  my  start  as  a 
three-dollar  clerk,  in  a  little,  one-horse  steel  concern. 
I  lived  on  two  dollars — saved  one.  It  took  me  five 
years  to  buy  my  first  coke-oven." 

"What  on  earth  did  you  want  with  a  coke-oven?" 

"Evidently  you  don't  know  much  about  the  manu- 
facture of  steel." 

"Not  a  thing,"  confessed  Tony. 

"Well,  you  can't  make  a  pound  of  steel  without 
coke.  I  realized  that  the  man  who  could  control  the 
output  of  coke  would  have  the  steel  industry  by  the 
throat." 

"Ah!" 

"In  my  mind,  I  saw  the  slopes  and  ridges  of  the 
Conemaugh  Valley  covered  with  my  coke-ovens. 
Then  I  saw  my  own  mills  turning  out  my  own  rails, 
and  my  own  locomotives  hauling  my  own  freight 
over  my  own  roads!" 

"Go  on!"  begged  Tony.    "It  is  an  epic!" 

"The  coke  was  the  basic  idea — if  you  understand 
me!" 

"Understand  you?  I  should  say  I  did,"  enthused 
the  young  man.  "It's  wonderful — stupendous,  what 
you  big  fellows  do !  You're  all  alike,  you  Captains 
of  Industry.  Coke-ovens,  mills,  railroads,  bridges, 
tunnels,  ships,  canals !  You  create  them  all  here !" 


ON  COMMON  GROUND  299 

Tony  tapped  his  forehead.  "That's  the  way  you  ex- 
press your  imagination.  It's  the  same  with  the  artist 
who  paints  his  picture,  the  poet  who  writes  his  song, 
the  musician  who  composes  his  symphony.  We  all 
see  it  here — in  our  minds — first — our  Conemaugh 
Valley  lit  with  its  coke-ovens !" 

"I  never  thought  of  it  that  way,"  returned  Caner, 
half-smilingly. 

Tony  warmed  up  to  his  theme.  "Why  do  men  like 
you  care  for  art — fill  your  houses  with  beautiful 
things — go  wild  with  enthusiasm  when  you've  picked 
up  a  rare  porcelain  or  a  great  canvas?  It's  simply 
one  master  taking  off  his  hat  to  the  genius  of  an- 
other!" 

Caner  was  pleased.  "That's  a  great  tribute  you 
pay  us,"  he  beamed.  "If  what  you  say  is  true — then 
men  like  us  should  stand  together."  He  offered  his 
hand  to  Tony.  "It's  a  bargain?  We're  friends, 
m'son?" 

Tony  grasped  the  proffered  hand  warmly.  "No 
wonder  you're  a  big  man,"  he  said,  happily. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  TURNING-POINT. 

AS  Tony  and  Caner  stood  there,  hands  clasped 
in  the  big  drawing-room,  Sewall  impatiently 
burst  in.    He  waved  formal  introduction,  he 
scarcely  heard  the  conventional  mentioning  of  his  own 
name  as  the  millionaire  turned  Tony  over  to  him. 
"Confound  you,  my  dear  boy,"  he  began  without 
preface,  "what  the  devil  did  you  mean  by  spoiling  the 
last  act?" 

"Don't  you  like  it?"  involuntarily  asked  Tony. 
"Like  it?    No!     Not  at  all!     It  will  never  do! 
You'll  have  to  go  back  to  the  original." 

The  tempestuous  way  in  which  Sewall  plunged  into 
the  heart  of  the  matter  warmed  Tony  to  him. 

"Of  course — if  you  think  it  better,"  he  promptly 
agreed.    "I  shall  be  delighted!" 

"That's  right!    You  are  a  good  boy — and — leave 
the  rest  to  me." 

300 


THE  TURNING-POINT  301 

Caner  had  been  listening  with  a  smile.  The  com- 
poser always  did  amuse  him — when  he  didn't  annoy 
him — and  he  was  pleased  that  Tony's  opera  had  won 
favor.  He  broke  in  now  with  a  chuckle : 

"I'm  going  to  see  that  Sewall  gives  you  a  good 
contract,  Quintard.  That's  as  important  to  you  as 
the  happy  ending  is  to  him." 

"Oh,  I  guess  that  will  be  all  right,"  laughed  Tony, 
who  could  not  see  anything  but  sunshine  all  around 
him.  "But,"  he  asked,  suddenly  turning  to  Sewall: 
"How  did  you  know  about  the  happy  ending?" 

"I  had  a  look  at  your  original  manuscript !" 

"But — but "  stammered  Tony,  completely  be- 
wildered. 

"It  seems  that  my  daughter's  companion  had  the 
original  manuscript  in  her  possession,"  volunteered 
Caner. 

"Oh,  yes— yes!    I  see!" 

"That  was  it,"  confirmed  Sewall.  "And  she  showed 
it  to  me." 

"Why,  then,"  broke  in  Tony,  in  a  strange  flutter 
that  was  not  caused  altogether  by  the  bright  pros- 
pects of  his  opera.  "Then  I — I  owe  all  my  good  luck 
to  her!" 

"Without  a  doubt !"    The  composer  was  emphatic. 

Tony  stared  vacantly  at  Albert  Sewall,  as  if  he  did 


302  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

not  see  him.  Then,  looking  over  at  Caner,  he  asked, 
with  point-blank  innocence: 

"I  wonder  if  your  daughter  would  be  good  enough 
to  let  Miss  Mudge  come  down  to  see  me?" 

"Miss  Mudge?"  ejaculated  Caner,  while  Sewall's 
lips  moved  silently  as  they  uttered  the  same  words  in- 
audibly.  "Miss  Mudge?" 

"Yes.    I  should  like  to  thank  her." 

To  do  Caner  justice,  his  sense  of  humor,  always 
present  in  really  great  men,  combined  with  the  whims- 
ical nature  of  the  situation,  induced  him  to  "play  the 
game."  After  one  brief  stare  of  amazement,  he 
started  to  move  toward  the  door. 

"I'll  see  if  my  daughter  can  spare  Miss  Mudge," 
he  said,  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  went  out. 

As  soon  as  the  millionaire  had  disappeared,  Tony 
turned  quickly  to  the  composer  and  asked  anxiously : 

"You  feel  pretty  sure  that  the  opra  will  be  a  go?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes!"  was  the  enthusiastic  reply. 
"It  will  be  a  sensation  I  I'm  so  sure  of  it  that  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do.  If  I  cannot  make  those  jack- 
asses give  you  the  prize,  old  Papa  Sewall  will  take 
the  book  himself.  He'll  hand  you  a  thousand  dollars 
in  advance — and  much  more,  if  you  need  it — until  the 
royalties  come  in." 

"That  would  be  magnificent  of  you." 


THE  TURNING-POINT  303 

"It  is  nothing — nothing!"  returned  Sewall,  care- 
lessly. "But,  wait  a  moment." 

He  took  a  card  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to 
Tony. 

"This  is  my  address.  You  come  to  see  me  to-mor- 
row, at  noon.  We'll  go  over  the  script  together." 

He  shook  hands  heartily.  The  young  man's  face 
was  aglow  with  happiness. 

"I'm  tremendously  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Sewall." 

"Don't  speak  of  it — don't  speak  of  it,  my  boyl" 
chirruped  the  good-hearted  composer,  as  he  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    PRINCESS. 

TONY,  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  wandered 
over  to  the  piano,  sat  down  and  began  finger- 
ing the  keys  without  striking  them.     Pres- 
ently his  eye  fell  upon  a  sheet  of  manuscript  music 
on  the  rack  before  him. 

"My  songl"  he  exclaimed,  in  wonderment,  im- 
mensely pleased.  He  played  it  softly,  humming  the 
words  to  himself  until,  of  a  sudden,  he  became  aware 
that  he  was  not  alone  in  the  room.  Glancing  over 
the  top  of  the  piano,  he  saw  a  girl,  all  in  filmy  white, 
slowly  approaching.  He  was  fairly  stunned.  He 
rose,  with  the  music  held  mechanically  in  his  hand, 
and  gazed  at  her,  wide-eyed,  breathlessly.  He  had 
never  seen  her  look  so  beautiful. 

She  paused,  shyly,    and  blushed    a  little  at    the 

thought  that  she  had  deceived  this  young  man  who 
stared  at  her  with  that  wonder-light  in  his  blue  eyes. 

She  felt  guilty,  remorseful.     She  only  hoped  it  was 

304 


THE  PRINCESS  305 

fair  to  deceive  him,  just  a  little,  for  happiness  sake. 
But  now,  she  was  afraid — afraid  that  the  truth  would 
have  to  come  out — afraid  he  would  not  forgive 
her. 

As  she  paused,  he  took  a  step  toward  her.  "You 
look  like— a  fairy  princess — not  a  fairy  god-mother," 
he  exclaimed  in  a  hushed  tone  of  admiration. 

It  was  a  very  shy  little  hand  that  fluttered  into 
Tony's.  That  feeling  of  guilt  oppressed  her.  She 
was  timorously  wondering  what  he  would  say  when 
he  found  out  that  she  was  "the  little  rich  girl  next 
door." 

Woman-like,  she  resolved  to  avoid  confession  as 
long  as  possible.  She  would  trust  to  a  good  Provi- 
dence to  help  her  out.  With  that  thought,  some  cour- 
age returned  to  her.  She  smiled  a  little  at  Tony,  as 
she  asked:  "How  are  you,  Mr.  Cinderella-man?" 

He  did  not  hear  the  question.  "How  pretty  you 
are !"  he  whispered.  It  was  just  what  he  was  think- 
ing, and  it  seemed  to  be  the  most  important  thing  to 
say  at  that  moment. 

"I  asked  you  how  you  were!"  she  countered,  de- 
murely. 

"Oh ! — I  have  been  most  miserable  1"  There  was 
no  doubting  the  truth  of  this  statement.  She  saw  mis- 
ery in  his  eyes.  He  hastened  to  add:  "But  I'm  very, 


3o6  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

very  happy  now."  And  he  held  her  hand  tightly  in 
his. 

"About  your  opera  ?" 

"I  didn't  mean  that  so  much — though,  of  course, 
I'm  happy  about  it!  Sewall  has  accepted  it!" 

"I  knew  he  would!"  She  had  always  had  the  great- 
est faith  in  him. 

"I  owe  that  to  you !"  The  lover  in  him  was  speak- 
ing now. 

Marjorie  shook  her  head,  and  asked  him  seriously: 
"Why  did  you  change  it — the  last  act?" 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  thick,  curly  hair,  as 
he  explained:  "I  was  so  unhappy — so  fearfully  un- 
happy— after  you  had  gone  that  night — the  old  end- 
ing didn't  seem  right.  I  rewrote  it  out  of  my  wretch- 
edness." 

"You — you  missed  me — a  little?"  The  girl's  voice 
was  very  low. 

Tony  looked  directly  into  her  eyes,  as  he  answered : 
"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes !  I  never  missed  anyone  so  much, 
and  I  didn't  know  how  I  should  ever  see  you  again. 
It  made  me  desperate!  You  can't  understand  how 
wonderful  it  is  to — to  be  able — just  to  look  at  you 
once  more!" 

She  laughed  gently,  happily.  He  loved  her.  Yes, 
he  loved  her.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  She 


THE  PRINCESS  307 

raised  the  long  lashes  of  her  bright  eyes  just  long 
enough  for  one  glance  to  steal  out. 

"I'm  glad — to  see — you — again,"  she  confessed. 

With  boyish  impulsiveness,  he  took  her  arm,  and 
led  her  to  the  settee  below  the  piano.  "Let's  sit 
down  and  talk  to  each  other."  Marjorie  hesitated. 
"You're  free  for  a  few  minutes,  aren't  you?" 

His  question  recalled  to  the  girl  the  enormity  of 
her  deception.  At  the  same  time  she  thought  of  a 
way  calculated  to  make  her  confession  less  diffi- 
cult. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "but  don't  you  think  it  would 
be — be  nice — if  you  were  to  meet  the  Princess?" 

Tony's  rejoinder  was  positively  and  emphatically 
negative,  as  he  took  hold  of  her  arm  and  drew  her 
down  on  the  settee  beside  him :  "No — no,  thank  you, 
I'd  rather  not — not  now !" 

What  to  say  to  him?  How  to  begin?  She  must 
have  a  moment  more  to  think.  She  saw  the  manu- 
script of  the  song,  which  he  still  kept  in  his  hand. 
"What — have  you  there?"  she  asked,  a  little  des- 
perately. 

"Oh,  this  ?  It's  my  song !  I  was  wondering  about 
it.  It's  dedicated  to  'Marjorie'!" 

"That's  the  Princess's  name,"  she  returned  quickly. 
"She  adores  your  song — she  thinks  it  is  the  most 


308  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

beautiful  song  she  ever  heard.  So  you  see,  you  really 
mustn't  hate  her  any  more." 

"I  don't  hate  her,"  Tony  protested.  "It's  only  that 
I  don't  want  to  see  anyone  but — just  you.  I've  only 
got  room  for  you  in  my  thoughts — in  my  heart!" 

It  was  coming — the  moment  that  she  both  longed 
for  and  dreaded.  She  turned  a  little  away  from  him, 
so  that  he  might  not  see  the  trouble  in  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  pause,  which  seemed  to  her  like  eternity. 
Then  she  heard  his  voice,  very  lowly  and  earnestly 
and  movingly,  asking : 

"Will  you  marry  me?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  you'll  want  to!"  She  rose  as 
she  said  this,  and  moved  a  little  away  from  him,  her 
face  still  averted. 

He  followed  her  quickly.  "Not  want  to?"  he  ex- 
claimed, puzzled,  surprised.  "Why,  dear  little  god- 
mother, I  love  you!  It  was  all  that  I  could  do  to 
keep  from  telling  you  so  that  last  afternoon  in  the 
attic.  But  it  didn't  seem  right  then.  I  had  nothing !" 
He  smiled  ruefully,  thinking  of  the  seventeen  cents 
— all  that  he  possessed  in  the  world.  "Seventeen 
cents — not  a  prospect!  I  didn't  know  how  I  could 
take  care  of  you.  And  I've  nothing  yet!  But,"  he 
went  on  sturdily,  "it's  coming.  Sewalll  is  confident 
that  the  opera  will  be  a  success.  He's  even  going 


THE  PRINCESS  309 

to  give  me  a  thousand  dollars  in  advance — that's  one 
hundred  thousand  cents.  So  now  I  feel  that  I  can 
ask  you  to  marry  me !" 

She  took  another  step  away  from  him — toward  the 
throne-chair.  Her  honest  little  heart  was  in  a  tur- 
moil. "I  wish  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do!" 

"Do?"  he  cried,  following  her  again,  eagerly,  re- 
assuringly: "It's  all  very  simple — if  you  love  me. 
We  could  be  married  in  the  spring — and  go  away  to 
the  country — to  a  dear,  clean  little  cottage  I  know  of 
— on  the  edge  of  a  hill."  He  had  dreamed  that  cot- 
tage so  well  that  it  seemed  real,  down  to  the  hum- 
ming-bird that  came  every  morning  to  visit  the  honey- 
suckle. "I'll  have  enough  to  keep  us  going  till  the 
royalties  come  in.  We'd  be  happy  there.  What  do 
you  say,  dear?" 

"Oh,  it  sounds  heavenly  to  me,"  she  confessed,  al- 
most tearfully.  In  a  moment  he  would  have  taken 
her  in  his  arms,  but  she  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 
He  seized  the  hand  that  checked  him,  and  tried  to 
look  into  her  face,  which  she  still  kept  turned  away 
from  him.  "I  should  love  keeping  a  little  home  like 
that  for  you,"  she  went  on.  Then  added,  desper- 
ately, "But  I  can't  say  'yes'  until  you've  asked  the — 
the  Princess!"  She  wheeled  about  and  bravely  faced 


310  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

him,  thinking  that  now  he  must  understand  and  for- 
give her. 

Tony  was  merely  bewildered.  "Ask  the  Princess?" 
he  echoed,  wonderingly. 

Marjorie  looked  at  him  beseechingly  for  the  length 
of  a  pulse  beat — and  her  pulse  was  beating  very 
rapidly  then — and  saw  that  he  didn't  understand.  All 
that  she  said  was :  "Yes !"  gazing  wistfully  at  him. 

Still  he  did  not  understand.  So  she  turned  again, 
slowly  mounted  the  footstool,  and  solemnly  sat  in  the 
great  throne-chair.  She  thought  she  was  being  very 
dignified,  but  she  only  looked  what  she  was — a  dainty, 
adorable  little  bit  of  feminity,  nestled  in  the  cavern- 
ous depths  of  a  chair  much  too  big  for  her,  with  her 
small  feet,  in  their  white  satin  slippers,  peeping  out 
from  under  the  filmy  skirt  and  resting  on  the  foot- 
stool. Still,  princesses  do  look  like  that  some- 
times. 

She  spread  out  her  skirts  with  pathetic  prettiness, 
held  out  one  of  her  little  hands  to  Tony,  and  be- 
sought him  with  a  wealth  of  love  in  her  voice,  and  a 
timorous  accent:  "Please,  ask  the  Princess!" 

He  stared  at  her  unbelievingly  for  an  instant.  Then 
understanding  smote  him.  He  recoiled,  as  though  a 
princess — or  a  queen — had  struck  him  with  her  scep- 
tre. It  was  in  a  subdued  voice,  breathless  with  cha- 


'Please,  Aslf--lhe  Princess" 


THE  PRINCESS  311 

grin  and  disappointment,  that  he  asked,  slowly,  paus- 
ing between  each  word: 

"You — you — are — the — Princess  ?" 

Still  holding  out  her  hands  to  him  pleadingly,  she 
answered,  tearfully,  self-accusingly: 

"Yes  !  Yes  !  I've  deceived  you !  I'm  the  Prin- 
cess !  I'm  horribly  rich — and  my  father  won't  disin- 
herit me!"  The  last  came  out  with  a  gasp.  He 
should  know  all  the  truth! 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  desperately 
hurt.  It  seemed  to  him  that  again  his  castle,  that  he 
had  built  for  their  dear  occupancy,  had  crumbled. 
He  looked  at  Marjorie,  overwhelmed,  speechless, 
shocked,  bewildered.  At  last  he  spoke,  and  the  tone 
of  his  voice  told  her  how  deeply  he  was  hurt: 

"You — you  haven't  played  fair!"  he  began.  There 
was  bitterness,  too,  in  his  words,  but  his  tone  soft- 
ened again  as  he  saw  the  pain  in  her  eyes.  "You've 
been  so — so  kind — so  generous — so  adorable!  I 
couldn't  help  loving  you — and  now  I  shan't  be  able  to 
stop."  He  turned  a  step  away  from  her,  unsteadily. 

"You  musn't  stop  !"  she  besought  him.  "Please  go 
on  loving  me !"  He  took  another  step  away  from 
her  and  toward  the  door.  She  held  him  back  with: 
"Listen  to  me,  Tony,  dear.  You're  my  prince  and 
I  love  you  too  well  to  spoil  your  dream.  If  you 


3i2  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

don't  want  my  money,  I'll  give  it  away.  But  you 
must  take  me — take  me  away  to  your  clean  little  cot- 
tage— I'll  keep  it  for  my  Cinderella-man  in  his  own 
way — for  it's  my  way,  too  !" 

Moving  as  was  this  last  appeal,  Tony  did  not  heed 
it.  Utterly  bewildered,  shaken,  scarcely  knowing 
what  he  was  doing,  only  with  an  instinct  that  he  must 
go  away  and  never  see  her  again,  he  started  toward 
the  door,  failing  to  catch,  even  for  an  instant,  that 
compelling,  loving,  heart-broken  look  that  she  sent 
after  him. 

She  felt  then  that  she  had  lost  him.  With  a  sob 
she  wilted  in  the  throne-chair,  a  little  heap  of  fluffy 
white,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms. 

The  sound  of  that  sob  gave  Tony  pause,  even  at 
the  threshold.  He  turned,  and  it  came  over  him  that 
he  was  doing  a  terrible  thing.  What  he  should  do 
was  not  clear  to  him.  Emotions,  conflicting  with 
deep-seated  principles,  were  having  it  out  in  heart  and 
brain,  as  he  slowly  came  back  to  the  throne-chair. 
There  he  stood  for  an  atom  of  time,  looking  down  at 
her,  his  eyes  fastened  upon  a  wisp  of  her  hair  where 
it  curled  upon  her  neck  and  snuggled  up  lovingly 
under  the  lobe  of  a  rose-pink  ear. 

A  sudden  and  irresistible  longing  for  her  possessed 
him.  Breathlessly  he  leaned  forward  and  touched 


THE  PRINCESS  313 

her  shoulder  with  his  hand.  Slowly  she  raised  her 
head  and  glanced  up  at  him  in  wonderment.  What 
she  saw  in  his  face  was  only  the  same  look  that  lovers 
have  given  each  other  for  centuries,  but  this  look  was 
for  her.  She  smiled  her  great  happiness  up  to  him 
through  her  tears,  and  lifted  her  fresh  sweet  face  to 
him.  He  caught  her,  with  a  glad  cry,  up  into  his 
arms  and  held  her  tightly,  fearing  that  she  was  a 
fairy  princess  indeed  and  might  still  escape  him. 

He  said  something  to  that  effect,  but  she  reassured 
him  with  a  kiss — which  is  the  best  and  the  only  way 
to  silence  a  lover's  doubting. 

If  it  matters  very  much  to  you,  gentle  reader,  I  will 
tell  you  that  they  did  go  to  live  in  that  little  cottage, 
with  Primrose  for  "footman,"  most  happily;  that 
"The  Gateway  of  Dreams"  was  produced  and  made 
Tony  so  rich  and  so  famous  that  the  little  Quintards 
just  had  to  move  into  a  smart  apartment,  with  a 
southern  exposure,  away  up  high — the  ninth  story,  I 
think — where  they  kept  boxes  of  geraniums  on  the 
window-sills,  canaries  in  cages  and  gold-fishes  in  jars, 
not  to  mention  the  puppies  even  after  they  had  grown 
up.  And  once  a  week,  regularly  as  clockwork,  came 
Morris  Caner  and  Romney  and  Doctor  Thayer  and 
that  ministering  angel  Sewall,  to  dinner  while  Prim- 
rose, looking  as  proud  as  a  traffic  policeman — but 


314  THE  CINDERELLA  MAN 

more  amiable — went  about  in  a  state  of  perpetual 
bliss,  serving  the  oysers  cold  and  the  soup  hot,  in  that 
heavenly  place  where  he  was  head  usher. 


THE  END. 


